


stay the night with the sinners

by bodhirookes



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Demons, Angel Ryan Bergara, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Demon Shane Madej, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Forbidden Love, M/M, Slow Burn, Trials, True Love, mentions of torture, very heavy but worth it, will explain that further in beginning note
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 85,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodhirookes/pseuds/bodhirookes
Summary: “Enjoy recess?”Ryan doesn’t recoil, even as his stomach does. “Yes.”Shane Madej doesn’t back down at the cold, one-worded answer. On the contrary, it makes his grin widen until Ryan can see every single one of his big, pointed teeth.“I’m sure the City of Angels really does it for you, Bergmeister. Lots of innocent, impressionable souls. It’s like an all-you-can-eat buffet out there.”“Sounds like it’s more your speed. And don’t call me that—I’ll light you up with Holy Fire before you even have the time to take it back.”“Aw, don’t be like that,” Shane cooes, stooping closer. Ryan hates him, hates the icy-hot cavity that forms in his gut at the sight of his unruly hair and his black, black eyes. “L.A.’s big enough for the both of us, sweetheart. We can share.”Or, Steven Lim, an angel, and Andrew Ilnyckyj, a demon, flee Heaven and Hell to be together, and Ryan Bergara, an angel, is forced to serve on the jury for their trial. He hates every single second of it, and Shane Madej, one of the oldest Greater demons around, is constantly there to remind him why Heaven and Hell should never be allowed to fraternize.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej, side Andrew/Steven but they are a main plot point
Comments: 202
Kudos: 297





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> *sweating nervously* hey y'all how's it been in the uhhhh 8 MONTHS SINCE I POSTED BFU CONTENT???? i'm really sorry i lowkey dropped off the face of the earth for bfu content but i got really into writing reddie content and then also all this shit happened so i lost the motivation to do anything creative!! woooo!!!! but here i am 8 months later with 80k+ of a huge, angsty angels + demons au so i hope that makes up for my long absence :") hopefully i won't be gone that long again but in these uncertain times i really don't know tbh so thank you for your patience and for sticking around for my content hehe!! i definitely have more shyan content in the works besides this fic and i promise someday i'll write the sequel to 'leave me high and dry' for all u horny bois out there
> 
> i've had the vague outlines for this fic idea for liiiiiterrralllll yeaaarrrsss but always struggled to pick a good pairing for it??? and honestly what better pairing to choose than these two tbh. i have everything but the end of ch 6 written for this fic so i'll be posting it in increments so i can go through and edit the other chapters while still provided content for y'all!!!! i'll have everything posted hopefully within 6-8 weeks but i might stretch it a little longer to make sure my editing is up to par and i feel good about what i'm putting out here! 
> 
> i want to preface this fic by saying that this is going to be a VERY experimental fic for me, which may go pretty decently or absolutely fucking terrible. i have 1) never really written an angel and/or demon fic before, and am kinda just??? pulling my take on that universe out of my ass based on other media i've consumed, and 2) have never really written enemies to lovers. i love that trope so much but it physically pains me to write anything but fluff and shenanigans where everyone is p much in love with each other right out of the gate. ryan and shane are going to hate each other, and ryan is going to hate a lot of his friends in here for a while, and i really don't know how it's going to go. like, a lot of the buzzfeed gang are twats in this fic, especially tj and kelsey impicciche, so! i guess we'll find out together! sorry to all tj and kelsey stans and to ryan, steven, and andrew for them getting fucked up by tj and kelsey :/ 
> 
> small warnings for: mentions of torture, hefty mentions of death/killing someone, and one graphic fight scene in chapter 3 that i will address when it comes up! also warning of course for sexual content in ch 6 but that's why yall are here so don't try and fool me 
> 
> title comes from 'england' by the national. all mistakes are my own!

Ryan is finding out the hard way that, despite being a literal angel, he will never have the patience of a saint. 

“I, for one, have known this the entire time,” Jen points out helpfully. 

“And I, for one, didn’t ask for your opinion.” 

“Has that ever stopped me before?” 

“Shockingly, it has not.” 

“Then stop fighting me about it. Just accept that you are—” 

A loud voice interrupts their hushed conversation. “Bergara, Ruggirello—is there something you’d like to say?” 

He stops side-eyeing Jen to glare down the long table at TJ, who is glaring back at them both with slanted, black eyes. Ryan’s first instinct is to bare his teeth, and so he does, not looking away from the power of TJ’s impressive scowl. TJ’s True Form wriggles at the edges of his vessel in response to Ryan’s defiant attitude, and it makes Ryan’s eyes flash white, makes his own True Form push up against his skin. 

“Yes, actually. Stop acting like I answer to you, and like I can’t take my eyes off of _them_ for more than a moment at a time without missing something vital. We’ve been looking at the same shit for four months now.” 

A low growl leaves TJ’s mouth at this. One of the other demons, Keith, laughs deeply and says: _“Oooh,_ the angel’s got some bite, boss.” 

“Knock it off,” Kelsey tells both of them, voice even but crisp. TJ doesn’t take his eyes off of Ryan, and Ryan fights the urge to let his Form shred his vessel and start a brawl. “He’s not used to being confined.” 

“Bergara’s always on the move,” Eugene (demon) agrees, amused. “Always interrupting. Always there when you don’t want him to be. Always trying to save the day.” 

“I wouldn’t need to save the day if you guys focused on the bad civilians like you’re supposed to. This isn’t the Dark Ages—you don’t need to pick on the lost ones anymore.” 

“The lost ones!” Zach (demon) laughs, head tipping onto the back of his tall, stiff chair. “Apparently you’ve never heard of grey morality. We go for the ones who’ll be joining us in Hell someday, but need a little push to get them where we all know they’re going.” 

Daysha (angel) squints at him from the side of Ryan that Jen isn’t occupying. “All the more reason for us to intervene. A similar push could pull them back to our side, keep one more soul from rotting.” 

To that, Tania (demon) gives Daysha a salacious wink. “Rot’s not the term we would use. Try ‘arouse.’” 

Daysha’s eyes go white, like a crystal ball fogging over, and Kelsey cuts off whatever she was going to spit back with a sharp: _“Enough!”_

The air at the table is tense and uneasy, an expected occurrence for this situation. Kelsey is right about Ryan not used to being locked up; the same can be said for every single angel and demon at the table besides her and TJ, who are their respective bosses. There’s too much power and animosity amongst them to have it be confined to such a small space for such a long amount of time. They’re all going stir-crazy. 

When it’s clear that the point has been made, and that no one is going to make a swipe at someone else, Kelsey settles back into her seat. 

“We’re going to take a break. Try not to snap each other’s necks on your down time or you’ll be assigned something much worse than sitting and judging. Be back in half an hour.” 

No time at all, but enough for him to get some air. As soon as TJ nods his consent, Ryan is out of his seat and striding towards the doors of the council chamber, Daysha hot on his heels. A taunting catcall follows them, but Ryan is determined to forget about the demons for just a few, Blessed minutes, and he won’t let them ruin this small slice of peace he’s just been granted. 

When they exit the council chamber, Daysha shudders like she’s forcing her Form back into her vessel. 

“I hate those smartasses,” she hisses to him. “They make it so hard for me to be objective.” 

“I think that’s the point,” Ryan hisses back. They have to pass by the staircase that leads to their sleeping chambers, with statues of Cain and Abel as its protectors on either side, and then they’re at the door that will take them out into the sweltering, smoggy air of Los Angeles. He shoves it open like it’s TJ Marchbank blocking him from leaving. 

The two of them spill outside, and no one on the street pays them any mind. The whole building is glamoured to look like a connector between the two businesses on either side of them, and only the angels and demons can see it for what it is: a parthenon of sorts, used solely for important events that require both Heaven and Hell to meet, discuss, vote, and set a course of action. A city hall, a neutral ground, where they play nice and interact without their rivalry getting in the way of rational thinking. 

_Yeah, right._

Ryan sits down on the huge marble stairs and takes a deep breath, eyes falling shut. Daysha takes a seat next to him, doing the same. He’s been working with her for a long time, and has been close friends with her for almost as long, so he doesn’t feel suffocated or agitated by her presence like he might by anyone else’s right now. Instead, he feels some of the frustration and dark, itchy anger weaken into relief. 

They’re quiet for a long time, listening to the lull of voices on the sidewalk and honking cars, breathing in the scents of hot asphalt and street food. Ryan slowly and surely feels his shoulders start to unbunch, the crackling energy of his Form simmering into its usual faint hum. 

Eventually, Daysha says to him: “I wish he would just come back.” 

Ryan feels a pang of longing at the words. He wishes he would come home, too, and put a stop to this. To the jury, to the confinement, to the arguing and snipping and barely concealed hatred. To the ache in Ryan’s old, old chest. 

“Me too,” Ryan admits, pressing his fingers into the warm marble step beneath him. “I’m tired of this. Of watching him and judging him like he’s a criminal.” 

“He won’t be as long as we have a say.” 

Ryan doesn’t voice his next thought out loud, but he’s sure Daysha hears it anyways: _I feel like that won’t be the case for much longer._

They’ve been part of the jury for Steven and Andrew’s trial for almost four months now, and before, that would’ve been the blink of an eye for Ryan. But it’s been day after day of watching Steven through a divine telecast, of watching him pick his way through the undertow of Hell, and then the space between their realms, and now across America to avoid detection with Greater demon Andrew Ilnyckyj in tow, and Ryan has felt every single one of them like he’s a mortal living life in slow motion. It’s been countless hours of watching Steven fight off lesser demons, get torn to shreds by TJ’s snarling Hellhounds, and outwit new angels left and right to keep from being captured and returned to Heaven and Hell. They manage to slip away every time, and then the hunt continues while the jury sits and watches, always the wiser as to where they are. 

Ryan had asked, at the very beginning, why Kelsey and TJ didn’t just bring them in when they found out Steven and Andrew had flown their corresponding coops. Kelsey had given him an unreadable look, but TJ had said very plainly: _“We want to see how this one goes.”_

‘This one’ being the most recent occurrence in the history of an angel and a demon fleeing to be together. For as long as Ryan has been around, he’s only seen this happen a few times, and each time the angel and demon are stripped of their powers and sentenced to mortal life on Earth for breaking the most sacred law of Heaven and Hell: don’t fall in love with anyone from the opposing domain. They were like the two faery courts, coexisting but never allowed to mingle beyond necessary pleasantries; Seelie was never, ever allowed to breed with Unseelie without dire consequences. 

The whole dog and pony show is drab to Ryan, whose main concern is and would always be making sure that good outweighed evil in the world. And that the demons kept their claws off of his prospective angels. But once the angel and demon pair that escaped this time was revealed to be Steven and Andrew, who are both higher ranked than everyone at the jury table besides Kelsey and TJ, the urgency of tracking them down changed slightly. TJ is interested in seeing how long Steven and Andrew can evade the various attempts to capture and return them to Heaven and Hell, and Ryan suspects that Kelsey, too, is curious to see the outcome of this situation. 

Ryan will tell anyone who’ll listen over and over again that he doesn’t give the slightest damn about the trial, or whether or not Steven and Andrew deserve to be together. His desire for Steven to return is purely for the reason that he misses Steven like he is Ryan’s wings, like he is all of Ryan’s power and essence and has disappeared without a trace. They had been inseparable the moment Ryan woke up and found that hey, he was dead, but hey, he got into Heaven, and had a pretty sweet gig lined up, so there wasn’t a lot to cry about. Ryan doesn’t care that Steven is in love with a demon. He cares that Steven almost lost an arm from one of the Hellhounds and that Andrew isn’t able to accelerate his healing process without making Steven scream in agony. 

He also cares a lot about the look on Andrew’s face the first and only time he tried it. 

Ryan knows where Steven is right this second, and it takes every single shred of his self control to not go tromping after him, to scream and shake some sense into Steven until he agrees to come back to Heaven. He’s bound by honor to serve on the jury, to be a judge for this trial taking place, and breaking his celestial vow to follow Kelsey’s orders will result in some serious shit. Maybe being sentenced to Hell as the lowest ranking demon possible. Maybe banishment from Heaven as an immortal angel who is never allowed to use his powers or see his brethren again. Kelsey is sweet until she isn’t, and Ryan knows exactly what she’s capable of. Has been watching the sweetness drain out of her more and more each day that passes.

So he stays right where he is, fingers digging into the step and heart aching for his oldest and dearest friend to wake up from this madness and return home. He’s been watching Steven run with Andrew for four months now, while also knowing right where he is the whole time, and it’s slowly and surely wearing on the precarious patience Ryan has worked almost a millennium for. He stays right where he is and tries to come to terms with the fact that there is nothing he can do about it for now, that he will just have to endure the madness of this whole thing. 

Ryan and Daysha aren’t disturbed until their half hour is nearly up. There’s been nothing but silence, traffic, and Top 40s music for almost thirty minutes, and then there’s the groaning sound of the front doors being heaved open. 

“It’s almost time,” Annie informs them. “Ryan, you need to get your pouting under control or TJ’s going to make this harder for all of us. And you know how Curly gets when he has to take orders from TJ.” 

“Yeah, he gets like me,” Ryan replies, hackles rising again, like a Pavlovian response to TJ’s name. “Because Marchbank’s not our boss and he can’t help himself from acting like it.” 

Annie gives him a pointed look, and Ryan sighs, holding his hands up. 

“Okay, fine. I’ll try to keep it to myself.” 

Daysha laughs. “I highly doubt that. The last time you kept something to yourself was—oh, yeah! _Never!”_

Ryan thinks of the council chamber, of a very specific thing inside of that room. “You ever hear that expression ‘I’ll take it to my grave’? The afterlife is not the grave.” 

Daysha ushers him towards the doorway, where Annie is still standing and waiting for them to come back inside. Ryan lets her, trying not to think of going back inside of the parthenon like he’s going into Hell itself. 

“Bergara, even if you did take some secrets to the grave, I bet they’re not worth us hearing you run your mouth about. Unless they’re Steven and Andrew level secrets, no one has time for them.” 

Ryan is used to wearing a mask, and he wears it now, praying for the cracks in it to stay together. He doesn’t look at Daysha or Annie, just flattens his voice and says, “In that case, I’ll continue to keep them to myself.” 

Another reason he wants Steven to come back and give up this pointless game. Another reason he wants Steven to come back and give up the hope that it could ever work. He’s giving Ryan too much hope, too much room to let all of his deepest, darkest desires spill out of his carefully controlled vault. But he would never admit that, not even if Steven asked him. Ryan would not admit he’s a breath away from becoming Steven Lim if someone held an angel’s blade to his throat and threatened to cut the truth out of it. 

His mask is almost cemented back together when they make it to the council chamber again. Ryan’s resigned to another long evening of this, of watching Steven and Andrew hole up in an abandoned house together in Wasteland, Kansas, waiting for Hellhounds or one of TJ’s cronies to come crashing through the moldy front door. Another long evening of Steven going softer than Ryan’s ever seen him, forehead pressed against the softest demon Ryan’s ever seen, and knowing how doomed they are, whether they survive another night or not. 

The wretched safety of his seat is finally in view when a long, long body suddenly looms above him, slow enough to let Annie and Daysha pass but not Ryan. 

“Enjoy recess?” 

Ryan doesn’t recoil, even as his stomach does. “Yes.”

Shane Madej doesn’t back down at the cold, one-worded answer. On the contrary, it makes his grin widen until Ryan can see every single one of his big, pointed teeth. 

“I’m sure the City of Angels really does it for you, Bergmeister. Lots of innocent, impressionable souls. It’s like an all-you-can-eat buffet out there.” 

“Sounds like it’s more your speed.” He levels Shane with an unimpressed frown. “And don’t call me that. I’ll light you up with Holy Fire before you even have the time to take it back.” 

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Shane cooes, stooping closer. Ryan hates him, hates the icy-hot cavity that forms in his gut at the sight of his unruly hair and his black, black eyes. “L.A.’s big enough for the both of us, sweetheart. We can share.” 

The ‘sweetheart’ is what gets him. Ryan’s breathing goes thin and angry, and his vision goes blindingly white, something that’s happened more in the past four months than it has in the past century. 

“I can’t wait for this to be over,” he seethes. He’s mostly angry that Shane manages to fuck him up so badly, and that he can’t control himself around the Greater demon no matter how hard he tries. “After this trial has concluded, if I see you _at all_ in the next two hundred years, you’ll be begging for the Fire.” 

Shane’s hand finds his hair, long fingers brushing back Ryan’s fringe, messy from hours of pushing it out of his face. The cavity in his sternum bleeds ice, all the cold leaking out of it, and then the heat follows, like the Fire he’s promised to douse Shane in as soon as he catches his breath again. 

“Is that a promise?” he taunts, expression going from amused to vaguely hungry. “I specialize in fire, in case you forgot, angel. I _live_ for it.”

Ryan has to get away, has to leave before it all comes crashing down. He replies, voice reedy: “I’ll bring the ice, then.” and jerks away from Shane. He hears an amused snort follow him, but he doesn’t look back, doesn’t look anywhere but his designated seat. Daysha and Jen are both giving him discreetly concerned looks, but he ignores them. He drops into his seat and sits like the ice he promised to wreak upon Shane is woven into every cell of his body. He stares resolutely at the telecom, where Steven and Andrew are rolling through the backwaters of Wasteland, Kansas in a car they stole, and doesn’t look at anyone at the table. Not Daysha, not Jen, and especially not the smarmy piece of shit demon that’s taking his seat right next to TJ, where he belongs. 

“Let’s get back at it,” TJ announces, when they’re all sitting. “Some of the angel younglings are going to attempt to talk to Steven again pretty soon.” 

Ryan feels the ice in his core splinter, but doesn’t waver, doesn’t let anyone see how badly he’s suffocating except for his clenched hands underneath the table. He stares at the telecom, resigned, and tries to find some kind of solace in the tired, freed Light to Steven’s eyes and the gentle, loving curl of Andrew’s smile as he takes them farther and farther away from home. 

**_~.~.~_ **

Steven and Andrew carefully pick their way across Kansas into the sprawling fields of Missouri, and then into the winding backroads of Illinois, and Ryan has to watch them almost every single step of the way. Since their vessels only require a full night’s sleep every few days, Kelsey and TJ like to push them through as many hours as they can on the other days. This is the hardest night in the stints of being on the jury: the night before they’re allowed to take a longer rest than normal, enough to sleep and have some time with their own thoughts. Ryan feels like one wrong word will send him across the long, marble table at the demons. 

The only thing keeping him from fidgeting is knowing that said demons will see it as a weakness, and do whatever they want or need to to exploit that weakness. So Ryan sits perfectly still, keeps his eyes on the telecast, and does everything in his power to keep the anger and the terror locked up tight. He lets the soft cadence of Steven’s familiar voice soothe what aches it can, even when the words were never meant for him to hear. 

Andrew and Steven talk about all sorts of things while driving together, and most of it makes the demons scoff in revulsion or mockery. Some of the angels, while not disgusted, are very vocal about their discomfort with invading Andrew and Steven’s privacy by listening to every single thing they say to each other. Ryan secretly takes great comfort in their frivolous conversations, in the fantasy world they’ve built between fighting off the low-level demons and Holy wards set up to trap them. 

Tonight, they’re talking about what they’d do if they were mortals, Andrew carefully guiding them down another long stretch of empty highway and Steven’s fingers tangled with the hand not being used to drive. 

“It would be fascinating to be a twenty year old mundane in college,” Steven tells him, laughing quietly. “College kids are like an entirely different species. Most of them sleep less than we do and still manage to excel in all parts of their lives. It’s incredible.” 

“What would you study?” 

“I’ve always had a great interest in literature and linguistics. It would be intriguing to study both of those since I never have the time to now.” 

Andrew looks over at him, smiling widely. “An angel studying the arts? How unique.” 

“Okay, wiseass—what would you study?” 

Andrew takes a turn to think about it. “I heard that Psychology and Sociology are an up-and-coming pair. I’m good with people and figuring out why they do what they do.” 

“A demon studying the deviance and troubles of mortals? How unique.” 

“I never said I was a special guy. That’s just what I’m good at.” 

At this admission, Steven softens. He moves his free hand into the back of Andrew’s hair, pushing some of it behind his ear. “You’re great at a lot of things. You don’t think you’d be able to take a different path if we were humans?” 

“Babe, why do you think they sent me to Hell in the first place?” He gives Steven a look, one with nothing hidden or deceptive mixed into it, and it still shocks Ryan to his core to see a demon laying everything out for an angel to see. “I chose this path when I was a human, and now I’m walking it like I was meant to. I don’t think an alternate version of myself would know how to do things differently.” 

“Just because you’ve done bad things doesn’t mean you’re bad,” Steven says. “And just because I’ve done good things doesn’t mean I’m necessarily good.” 

Andrew looks away from the road longer this time, long enough that Steven can see the naked adoration in his eyes and relay it back to Andrew. 

“You are good. You’re magnificent.” Andrew brings the hand that he’s holding up to his mouth, and brushes a kiss over the back of it. “You’re the only good choice I’ve ever made.” 

Ryan’s throat runs dry at these words, while most of the demons at the table all start to groan and curse. On the telecast, Steven gets a little choked up, but still manages to say: 

“See? You’re not bad at all.” 

And it’s clear that Andrew doesn’t believe him, not for a single second, but Ryan can see that he wants to. He can see that Andrew wants to believe Steven more than anything, wants to believe that the cruelty inside of him could possibly ever turn into something loving, and it tears him up. 

They fall silent after that, content with each other’s company and the crackle of music through the car’s ancient stereo system, and this is when the demons start speaking up. 

Ned announces: “Well, it’s a good thing we haven’t eaten anything lately. That was fucking vile.” 

“‘You’re the only good choice I’ve ever made.’” Zach parrots. “Apparently so. Everything else he’s ever done or said has been complete horseshit.” 

Ryan has to clench his jaw against the need to shut him down, to actually jump to the defense of a fucking _demon._ Quinta, on the other hand, does not keep it to herself. 

“If I do recall correctly, Andrew Ilnyckyj is a Greater demon over all of you, literally and figuratively.” 

Sara hisses, “What would _you_ know about Greater demons?” 

“I’m older than almost all of you at this table, if you’ll recall once again. I was there when Andrew Ilnyckyj was promoted to Greater demon—it was right after I was promoted to Archangel. He did more than half of you combined to get where he was before he left with Steven. I _know_ because I had to spend so much time cleaning up all of his messes.” 

“That’s the point,” Tania tells her, looking bored. “Ilnyckyj did all this sinister bullshit to climb the ranks, and then threw it away for some goody goody angel who would let God strike him down to Earth and thank him for it.” 

“He might have been a Greater demon, but he’s worthless now,” Adam adds, which surprises Ryan. He doesn’t know if the demons are ever really friends with each other, but Adam and Andrew had a very pleasant relationship as far as he could tell. “Just as Steven Lim was once an Archangel, and is now worth nothing more than a fumbling cherub. They’re both fools for giving everything they worked towards away for nothing.” 

Curly turns to him, face grave. “If it was nothing, there wouldn’t be a trial, now would there?” 

Adam turns to him, face horrible. “If it was worth anything, if there was any way that it could survive, there wouldn’t be a trial, now would there?” 

They stare at each other for a few bated breaths, and Ryan finally starts to understand what’s going on. He’s been so focused on keeping his own emotions in check, on keeping all of the things he would rather die than let the demons witness inside of himself, that he never thought to look for it in them. It’s hard to see past all of the contempt on Adam’s face, but Ryan can make out the vague outlines of pain, and underneath that, something like desperation. 

“You’re afraid,” Ryan says, barely above a whisper. Adam still hears it like he shouted, because he flicks that enraged glare onto Ryan. Ryan looks back without flinching and says it again. “You’re _afraid._ You’re afraid of him becoming nothing. You’re afraid of what’s going to happen when they’re brought back here.” 

Adam’s vessel starts to tremble, his Form rising to the surface like lava. “I advise that you back the fuck down before I make _you_ feel afraid, Bergara. It wouldn’t be hard. You already know that Steven’s wings will be stripped when he’s dragged home, and they’ll throw him right back to the Hounds after it’s done. Maybe I’ll arrange it so you can watch in a front row seat.” 

Ryan hardly moves to get to his feet before Jen’s hand is clamped onto his arm, holding him down. It doesn’t stop the fizzle of energy that escapes into the room, one that makes everyone straighten in their seats. 

“Enough,” Kelsey says to them both, hands flat on the table. “Save it for your off time, boys.” 

“We’re not _boys.”_

“Then stop acting like it!” TJ bellows. “Maybe you need a refresher course when all of this wraps up, Bianchi? It can be arranged—Ilnyckyj will be your classmate.” 

Adam pushes against it for a few moments, and then he forcefully sits back in his seat, nostrils flared. 

“I understand. I’m sorry for the interruption, boss.” 

TJ looks at Ryan next, face thunderous. Ryan isn’t feeling particularly giving today, or prone to grovelling, so he says: 

“I’m sorry I let your underling get a rise out of me. It won’t happen again.” 

As soon as the words pass his lips, Ryan wants to snatch them back up. Not because of the enmity seeping out of Adam in waves, and not because of the snarl that TJ stares him down with, but because it invites a new voice to the discussion. It invites the one person who gets under his skin no matter what to get his digs in. 

Shane releases a throaty laugh from TJ’s side, clearly amused by the whole transaction. “I’m inclined to disagree. There’s nothing that gets a rise out of you more than malice, casual or no.” 

Ryan hates how true this statement is, and how the dark, gravelly tone to Shane’s voice makes his entire body lock up like it’s made of iron. He gives Shane a look that could bring just about any mortal to their knees if he tried hard enough, but just makes Shane grin. 

“Nothing gets a rise out of me more than listening to the lot of you spew nonsense for hours on end. I’m tired of hearing your fucking voices.” 

“Oh, we know,” Shane drawls, giving Ryan a leer. “We can’t help it. You’re just so cute when you’re mad.” 

Ryan hasn’t heard the word ‘cute’ used in reference to himself in decades, centuries, maybe his entire existence. The use of the word now makes his blood run hot, makes it boil painfully like it does just before he casts a demon back down into Hell. 

He’s prepared to fight back with everything he’s got, stretched too thin and full of too much sulphur, and the way everyone else at the table is eyeing each other agrees with his sentiment. But before any blood can be shed, Kelsey stands up at the head of the table. Her vessel comes undone just enough for her Form to push her to a towering height, at least eight feet, and she looms over every single one of them. Her eyes are so white they’re almost blue, and Ryan looks away from them to where Steven is stroking his thumb over the length of Andrew’s throat and telling him about the stars. 

“That will be _enough.”_ Her voice fills every empty space in the council chamber, and only the highest ranking angels and demons are able to keep from flinching at it. Ryan just scrapes by into that category. “Might I remind you that you’re all here to do a job, a duty that you are bound by honor to complete? If you can’t sit quietly and perform your basic required duties as Heaven and Hell’s finest without acting like children, we’ll shove you into Purgatory for a few decades and see how you fare. And we’ll telecast it for _everyone_ to see.” 

When no one says or does anything else, Kelsey gives them a final: “We’re almost finished for the night. Do not test my patience again.” and then sits down. From the corner of his eye, he sees TJ appraise Kelsey, openly appreciative of the way she handled the situation, and his stomach turns. There’s something about their similar disposition on the jury that makes him feel sick and uneasy, but he doesn’t dare to voice this concern out loud, not even to Daysha or Jen. 

He tries to ignore the sick feeling and focuses once more on the telecast. Andrew is now telling Steven about how the stars look when you can only see them, when you live in the darkness that makes the stars glow so brightly, and Ryan hones in on the calm, warm infliction of his voice. 

There’s a heavy gaze on the crown of his head, though, one that lingers too long to ignore. When Ryan looks up, he is first drawn to Shane Madej, as always; Shane is looking at his fingernails, like he truly cares what they look like outside of when his claws push through the beds. It takes Ryan a long moment to figure out that it’s Adam Bianchi who is staring so intently at him that it feels like a hand pushing down on his shoulders. 

The stare is full of lingering traces of hostility, but Ryan sees the fear in it, sees it now like it’s the thing he should have seen first. He sees all of this anger, hatred, and fear, and he also sees something another demon has never shown him: sorrow. Sorrow like he wants to make this stop, like he knows Ryan wants to make this stop, but there’s no way either of them can. 

Sorrow like he knows how much Ryan loves Steven Lim, and how much it’s going to hurt when he’s dragged back to Heaven only to go tumbling out of it again. Sorrow like he knows that Ryan knows how much he loves Andrew Ilnyckyj, and how much it’s going to hurt Adam to watch the Hounds pull Andrew apart so completely that there’s no way anyone will be able to put him back together again. 

He could shut everything up and look away, could pretend like the demons are nothing to him no matter what; instead, Ryan looks, and lets Adam look back, and he sees everything. 

He doesn’t look towards Shane’s end of the table again. 

**_~.~.~_ **

The main reason why Ryan despises Shane Madej more than any of the other demons, maybe next to TJ, is because of his particular brand of malignancy. He was right in saying that Ryan hates malice above all else, but he’s completely equipped to deal with raw violence, with the kinds of demons who would strip the skin from your bones without a second thought, would do it slowly just to enjoy it longer. He can handle the demons who thrive on the screams of fear that echo throughout Hell’s many levels, the demons who possess people and make them feast on their loved ones. 

Ryan is not so great at handling demons who are malicious in a more nuanced manner. The ones who can sweet talk a man into signing his soul away for ten years of fame. The ones who use charming, alluring words to get mortals to fall in love with them and then break their hearts beyond repair. Ryan can handle the demons who have fun breaking bones; he cannot handle the demons who have fun by slowly and steadily ripping all of your insides out and leaving behind only the hollowed-out remains of your body. 

Maybe it’s because he likes it more when someone is direct and upfront about their feelings with him. Maybe it’s because he knows that if things were different, all Shane would have to do is whisper the word _sweetheart_ into his ear and Ryan would give him every single part of his mind, body, and soul. It fills him with a painful amount of anger and despair to know it to be true. 

So Ryan does his best to stay away from Shane Madej and his honeyed, cloying tongue. It’s just a shame that no matter what corner of the room or even the Earth itself that Ryan is standing in, Shane somehow finds a way to get to that corner, too. 

It’s a few days after the Adam incident, when Ryan is moderate on sleep energy and low on food energy, that Shane finds him in a tiny diner up the street. The parthenon is stocked with everything they could possibly need, but Ryan would give up the absolute finest food in the universe for a chance to spend an hour outside of that miserable building and its inhabitants. 

Ryan is tucked into the back corner of the diner, drinking coffee and people watching out of the window, when Shane’s hulking form drops into the seat across from his. His knees spread wide, effectively caging Ryan’s in between them, and only Ryan’s immortal reflexes keep him from dropping his mug. 

Shane gives him his signature smug, appraising look, one long arm resting on the table and the other draped along the back of the booth. He’s dressed in nothing more than black slacks and a loose, white shirt, and his eyes are that beautiful shade of amber he chooses to don around the mundanes, and Ryan has to make a point of carefully setting his coffee down without spilling it. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Not even a ‘Good morning’ from you, huh?” Shane flags the waitress down with a careless wave of his hand, one that makes Ryan bristle. “I’m just trying to have a civil meal with you, Mr. Bergara.” 

“‘Civil,’” Ryan scoffs. “Yeah, right. I’d just as soon believe that Tania Safi would ever voluntarily try to seduce a man than believe you’re capable of civility.” 

“We’re all full of surprises,” Shane tells him. “I think Zach was serious about something one time, back in the Dark Ages. Or maybe it was World War II? Never say never.” 

Ryan regards him coldly. “What do you _want?”_

His tone makes Shane’s eyes flit to black, just long enough for Ryan to count to three, before they’re back to amber. It makes him stiffen, hands curling into fists on top of the sticky table. 

“I told you what I want. I want to have a civil meal with you. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Ryan highly doubts this, and opens his mouth to say as much, but is cut off by the arrival of their waitress. She takes Shane’s order—coffee and some obscenely large breakfast platter—and then she’s off, telling Ryan that she’ll bring them both out at the same time. Shane gives him another smug smile, as if to say _See? Now you have to eat with me_ and Ryan wishes he could flee. Not just from the diner, but from the city, from the state, from any part of the world that Shane can follow. 

Instead of running, he picks his coffee up again and takes a sip, doing everything in his power to keep the frantic, caged feeling in his chest off of his face. Another angelic trait that Ryan never quite got the hang of, alongside mercilessness: hiding his emotions, unless under extreme duress, like sitting in a room full of Greater demons. Here, he’s only sitting in front of one, and it’s the one that can find Ryan’s weak spot without lifting a finger. 

Shane lets Ryan stew until the waitress drops his coffee off; he picks the mug up after she leaves and stares into it dubiously, one eyebrow perfectly raised. 

“This looks repulsive,” he announces. He takes a tentative sip and doesn’t bother to hide his grimace. “Ah, excellent. It tastes just the same as it looks.”

Ryan, for some unfathomable reason, almost laughs at the look on his face. He hides it in his own cup and says: “Repulsive coffee for a repulsive creature. I think that’s a fair trade.” 

Shane doesn’t try to smother his laughter at all, and it booms across the diner. Ryan feels every pair of mortal eyes like hot brands in his side, and he does a quick gesture with his hands to get them to turn away, settling a light shield of glamour over his and Shane’s corner of the room. The humans immediately forget about their existence and go back to talking like nothing drew them away the first place. 

Shane releases a long breath when he’s done, grinning at Ryan. “You really do hate me, don’t you, little guy?” 

“You always sound so shocked when you remember.” 

“It’s because sometimes, when you’re not snarling and threatening to kill me, I feel like you don’t actually hate me all that much.” 

Ryan’s heart lurches, but he keeps his voice even. “You’re old as dirt and you still can’t tell that I hate you? Apparently all Greater demons get less great the longer they’re employed.” 

Shane doesn’t drop the attitude, but his mouth does fall a little; Ryan tries to see it as a victory. 

“I haven’t grown senile, if that’s what you think has been cooking up in my noggin all this time. It’s called _wisdom,_ angel. I make illusions for a living, and I know how to look past one. You can’t fool me.” 

“Yes,” Ryan agrees, adding a glacial edge into his voice. “I know perfectly well how skilled you are at creating something out of nothing.” 

Shane pauses at this. All of the humor drains from his face, and an impassive, calculating look takes its place. Ryan looks back at him and uses every single forged piece of his emotional temperance to keep from cracking under the weight of that stare. 

After they’ve looked at each other for long enough that it almost becomes unbearable, Shane asks: 

“What is it about me that you hate so much? And don’t say it’s because I’m a demon. I want specifics.” 

Ryan thinks of everything that he could possibly respond with. He considers going with: _You said it yourself, there’s nothing that gets a rise out of me more than malice, and you’re full of it,_ or maybe: _You can’t tell me you forgot about the one time you ran Maycie through with a sword and almost killed her, back when I was young and fragile. Back when I could never take a Greater demon head-on. I never forgot it and I’ll never forgive it._

Then he glances down at Shane’s hand where it’s wrapped around his coffee mug. To an outside observer, the grip on his mug would be casual, a subconscious, forgotten gesture. But Ryan can see the way Shane is carefully running his thumb over the lip of it, can see the way that his knuckles are a little white around the handle, and thinks that maybe a touch of honesty will get Shane off of his back. Just this once. Just enough honesty to make Shane understand. 

Ryan finds his eyes again, so disarmingly beautiful and warm, and he tells Shane in the most sincere tone of voice he can manage: 

“I hate you so much because I can never tell if you mean it. I prefer knowing if the demons I’m facing are out for blood and won’t rest until they’ve tasted it, or if they’re in it for refining their charisma and persuasion skills. I can read every demon on the jury perfectly except for you. I’ve never been able to tell when you mean what you’re saying.” 

Shane doesn’t crack, just as capable of remaining stoic as Ryan is when he needs to be. “You don’t like a little mystery in your life, then?”

“No,” Ryan replies. “I don’t like illusions.” 

There’s another pause, and Ryan should feel victorious at the surprise within the silence, like he really pulled one over on Shane, but instead he feels empty and sore. Shane’s knuckles have gone so white around the mug that Ryan expects it to be in shards on the ground any second. 

And then he relaxes, and tries to stitch together another duplicitous grin, but Ryan has already seen the splintered edges of it. It’s the first time he’s ever seen something resembling candor from Shane Madej, and it does nothing to fill the vacuum within him, makes him feel even emptier than before. _This_ is why he avoids being anywhere near the demon. It always breaks something he’ll never be able to repair within him. 

“Maybe I like a little mystery in my life, did you ever think about that?” Shane carefully presses one of their knees together under the table, and Ryan feels it all the way to the tips of his fingers. “Maybe I’m waiting for someone who can see past all of the illusions and the mystery.” 

Ryan is abruptly very exhausted, the kind of exhausted that coffee can’t fix, that nothing short of memory loss could fix. He feels ancient, and helplessly lost, and exhausted, exhausted, exhausted. 

“You’ll be waiting for the rest of eternity, then.” He takes another sip of coffee and wills the warmth of it to bring him some kind of relief. “How many centuries have you spent behind a mask, pretending that you don’t know what you want?” 

Shane purses his lips, and replies with: “More than what you’ve been around for.” 

“And it’ll probably be many more after I’m gone,” Ryan says. “You probably don’t even remember what’s underneath all of those illusions. Just more trap doors and riddles no one will ever be able to unravel.” 

The smile that splits Shane’s face is horrible, more like a jagged slice than anything else. It sucks all of the warmth from his eyes and turns it into vacancy. “I know perfectly well what’s underneath my mask. I’ll never be able to forget. I’ll never be able to look away from it.” 

Ryan does look away, feeling suffocated by the same emptiness in his gut that is leaching the emotion from Shane’s expression. He looks away to where all of the mortals are going about their days, full of life, love, and hot, beating hearts, who have never had the unfortunate task of trying not to see Shane Madej’s hot, beating heart and the cage around it. 

All he can do now is release a deep, deep breath and tell Shane and his hot, beating heart: 

“It’s going to die with you. You’re the only one who’s ever going to see what’s underneath that mask, and then it’s going to follow you into oblivion.” 

Ryan doesn’t except him to answer, but Shane does, with a very quiet, “I fucking hope so.” 

They don’t say another word for the rest of their civil meal together. They nurse their repulsive coffee, eat their food when it’s brought out, and do not speak again. When everything is gone, Ryan magicks up money to pay for their food and then he slips out of the booth without looking at Shane. He can feel Shane’s old, curious eyes following him out of the door, but Ryan doesn’t turn around and he doesn’t wait for him to catch up. He heads back towards the parthenon, blending easily into the crowd of mundanes walking to work or home or wherever their hearts desire. He’s afraid of Shane seeing through all of the missing pieces of Ryan’s mask, the one he’s spent almost a millennium creating only to have it shattered whenever the Greater demon is in range. He’s afraid of looking into the mask that Shane has spent more than a millennium creating and never being able to find anything else but the illusions, the tangled threads of his morality and his sense of purpose. 

He’s afraid of looking into that mask and seeing more split-second glimpses of what lies underneath, like he did at the diner. Of seeing the darkness, the cruelty, the malice. Of seeing the cage holding everything out of reach from the Light, from any attempt Ryan might make to open it up and let it run rampant. 

He’s always afraid of losing, but he’s more afraid of seeing. So he walks back to the parthenon and doesn’t let Shane follow him, doesn’t let him force his way into Ryan’s space again. He uses the growing distance between them to mend his own mask and think of different corners of the world he might be able to slip away to after all of this is done. To try and make his mask stronger. To try and forget about the desolation on Shane’s face at the mention of whatever lies underneath his mask. To try and forget about the warm, divine press of their knees under the table, bodies easily finding each other while everything else stays in its cage. 

To try and forget that if Shane wanted to, all he would have to do is stick his lovely, crooked fingers into the lock on Ryan’s cage and everything would come spilling out right into his palms and stay there. 

**_~.~.~_ **

Shane usually doesn’t go out of his way to harass Ryan more than once a day, but after their _chat_ at the diner, he starts to seek Ryan out every time he gets a chance. 

Whenever they’re given a small break, Shane will suddenly appear at his side and ask if he can follow Ryan out to the front steps of the parthenon, or out back to the gardens. Ryan always gives him a flat, unimpressed look and a curt: “I’m fine, thanks.” but it never deters Shane from trying again. On the nights that they get to take a longer rest to sleep, Shane will stop him at the top of the stairs leading towards their individual sleeping chambers to wish him “the sweetest of dreams.” Sometimes, in the mornings when Ryan needs to eat and finds a restaurant nearby to go to, Shane will walk through the door shortly after and take a seat with him, just like the first time. Shane never approaches the topic of Ryan’s immense dislike for him again, but seems determined to get under his skin just the same. 

Today, he catches Ryan on his way back to the council chamber after another break spent outside with Daysha. They’re talking in low voices about nothing in particular when Shane rounds the corner at the other end of the hall. Daysha doesn’t seem to notice, but Ryan always feels his presence like a hand around his throat, and he looks away from her earnest face to where Shane is headed straight towards them. 

“Another lovely afternoon in the City of Angels, angels?” 

The way Ryan tenses could probably be visible from Heaven itself; it certainly doesn’t go unnoticed by Shane, who grins viciously, or by Daysha, who draws herself up to match his gaze. 

“Any moment spent out of your company is lovely, thank you for asking.” 

Shane leans closer. “And any time spent in yours is nothing short of the same, Your Divinity.” 

Daysha scoffs and pushes past him without another word. Ryan tries to do the same, but Shane stops him by touching just the tip of his finger to the space beneath Ryan’s chin. It effectively pins him in place, and Ryan is helpless to do anything but stare up at Shane, that one touch enough to suck all of the feeling out of his vessel.

Shane’s eyes flick between his for a moment, and even this close together Ryan can’t tell what’s behind them, behind the teasing and the darkness. This close together, Ryan has trouble remembering that he shouldn’t let Shane Madej within touching distance of him, and that he shouldn’t be rendered so useless by their single point of contact. 

When Shane’s thumb curls in so that it’s pressed right under the swell of his bottom lip, so that he’s grabbing Ryan by his chin, Ryan inhales and Shane’s eyes fall to his mouth. And when he speaks, his voice sounds like the sweetest, darkest dream, like a song pulling him towards the depths of the sea. 

“Any moment spent in your company just leaves me wanting another. A city full of angels, and only one who makes me desperate for more.” 

The mention of other angels is what breaks Ryan out of his trance. He jerks his chin from Shane’s hold and shoves past him, hands balling into fists at his sides. 

“I can’t say the same,” Ryan says dismissively, not looking at him again. “Every second spent in your company makes Purgatory seem like Wonderland.” 

He can hear the smirk in Shane’s smoky voice when he says: “Oh, well—they do say that distance makes the heart grow fonder!” He clenches his jaw against the desire to lash out at Shane and stalks back into the council chamber, any trace of peace from his break gone just like that. 

When Ryan reaches his seat, he drops into it silently, trying to hide his shaking fists under the table. Daysha must notice, though, because she leans in and mutters: 

“He has an unnatural fascination with tormenting you.” 

And isn’t that the truest thing he’s ever heard? 

In a moment of weakness, Ryan mutters back: “He drives me absolutely _mad.”_

Daysha’s gaze pins him in place, much like Shane’s touch and nothing at all like Shane’s touch. He doesn’t dare return it, keeps his eyes on his shaking hands so that Daysha won’t see the agony in them. 

“Why is he always out for you? All these centuries and I still don’t understand.” 

“I don’t know anymore than you do. When I figure it out, I’ll let you know, right after I damn him to the deepest layer of Hell.” 

“That’s where he crawled out of after he woke up. I don’t think you sending him back will help.” 

He sighs. “I know.” 

Daysha hesitates, and Ryan knows that she wants to say more, can already hear all the truths that she might bring to Light, but TJ calls them back into session before she can push it. For the first and only time, Ryan is grateful for TJ’s immaculate timing and his effortless ability to command the room. 

“Okay, okay, you’ve all had your break, children. It’s time to refocus on the task at hand here.” 

Niki in particular, from Kelsey’s left side, gives TJ a dark look at this comment. He grins nastily in response, daring her to speak up, and just for a moment, it looks like she might; but then she clenches her jaw and looks down at the telecast without a word. Ryan makes the mistake of catching TJ’s eye afterwards, and the nasty grin deepens into something more sadistic, something meant to instill fear and horror into whoever has the misfortune of looking upon it. He stiffens, but doesn’t look away until TJ does to say something to Shane. 

Ryan then makes the even bigger mistake of watching Shane’s face while TJ whispers between them. It goes mysteriously blank, so suddenly and totally that it startles him a little, and then it splits into an expression that reflects TJ’s sadistic grin perfectly. 

He startles as subtly as he can when Shane suddenly turns and meets his stare. His eyes are two obsidian gems, and they gleam with everything but benevolence; Ryan feels his stomach swoop at the sight of them, like he just missed the last step on the parthenon’s front staircase. 

Shane must feel the dread that stirs within him, because he winks at Ryan across the long, marble table like they’re in on some joke together. Ryan manages to look away, his Form trembling underneath the skin of his vessel. He would give anything, _anything_ in the whole, wide, useless world to be somewhere other than in this council chamber, locked inside with Shane Madej and his boss. 

Kelsey enlarges the telecast once more, creating a somewhat effective barrier between the angels and the demons. They can still see each other, but their eyes are drawn naturally to where Steven and Andrew are now traipsing through some ghost town in Indiana. They’re looking a little worse for wear: clothes rumpled, eyes sunken, mouths downturned. But they’re still together, they’re still alive, and they’re still holding hands like it pains them to let go of each other for even a second. Ryan’s heart sits like a stone in his sternum at the sight of them looking so beat up and so in love at the same time. To see what love looks like after it’s been put through the jaws of a Hellhound and the whimsy of an elite Archangel and an elite Greater demon working together to snuff it out. 

“Are there any plans for the night?” Eugene asks, sounding uncaring but trying his best to be interested. “Or is it going to be more Hounds and more of those weird entry-level demons?” 

To his right, Keith snorts rudely. “Like _you_ didn’t start out as one of those weird entry-levels.” 

“I didn’t. The Boss knew I was too good to waste on hiding in closets and welcoming other newcomers. I woke up ready to work on the chopping block.” 

That doesn’t surprise Ryan in the slightest. 

Eugene is one of TJ’s favorites, so he lets the sass in the remark slide. “Have you got any ideas you’d like to share with the class?” 

“I said I woke up ready to work on the chopping block, didn’t I?” 

“Lose the attitude and give up the tactic.” 

“It’s nothing crazy,” Eugene admits, shrugging. “I haven’t seriously been thinking about any tactics to use. But you could always call in the Dreamers now that Ilnyckyj and Lim are more susceptible to them.” 

The Dreamers are very innocently named for a group of the worst demons, in Ryan’s personal opinion. All demons are gifted with glamouring abilities, but the Dreamers specialize in creating illusions, hallucinations, and horrendous, reality-splitting dreams that plague their targets whenever they manage to fall unconscious and continue to lurk at the edge of their minds when awake. They specialize in a very specific brand of torture: slow and steady and all-consuming. 

The thought of one of them getting their hands on Steven, now that he’s so run-down, almost makes Ryan get out of his seat and out of the council chamber. 

Tania interrupts his panic to argue against the idea. “That’s great and all, but the Dreamers are better used when they have time to work their way into someone’s head, in case you’ve forgotten. One night of torment isn’t gonna do much for us--especially since Andrew and Steven are equipped to handle Dreamers and tell when they’re being attacked by them.” 

“A fair point,” Sara agrees. 

Ned, on the other hand, seems to agree with Eugene. “They’re exhausted and fucked up by constantly being hunted. You don’t think that a night with the Dreamers will fuck them up more? It’ll crack them right in half.” 

“Only if we send the right ones!” Zach chimes in. 

At this comment, one of the angels loses their patience. Ryan is incredibly surprised to hear Maycie’s voice from the other end of the table, since she hasn’t really spoken up thus far. 

“Do you think that’s necessary?” she asks, sounding close to the breaking point. “You’re already exhausting your Hounds on them. You think these two are worth the Dreamers?” 

Eugene looks over at her, eyes bottomless. “They’re worth a thousand Dreamers.” 

“No one is worth a thousand Dreamers,” Quinta says. “Not even Steven Lim. And _certainly_ not Andrew Ilnyckyj.” 

He leans across the table towards her. “Andrew doesn’t really count here, to be completely honest with you. He breeds Dreamers like fish breed fry and is mostly immune to their talents. But Steven Lim couldn’t fight off a Dreamer in his current state if it handed him a gun and told him where to shoot. Do you know how many recruits we’ve lost because of Steven? Enough to earn him a thousand Dreamers.” 

They have a staring contest of sorts, where Eugene silently begs Quinta to argue his statement and Quinta begs Eugene to give her a reason to break out her Form. It lasts for a few scalding, rigid breaths, and then Kelsey raises a hand to call for order. 

“We’re not sending any Dreamers to them,” she announces, looking at TJ. “I agree with the sentiment of it being pointless and ultimately ineffective. If you want to use psychological warfare, find something else. The Dreamers are not going to be used like this during the trial.” 

Something about this statement rubs Ryan the wrong way, similar to the missed-step feeling he had earlier. It only worsens when TJ surveys her, as if to say _I’m reading the fine lines of your words, and I’m going to remember them for later._

No one has any other suggestions, so they go back to watching Steven and Andrew creep across Indiana. The silent observing stretches into one, two, almost three hours before anyone speaks up again. 

On the telecast, Steven and Andrew have finally decided to stop for the night. They’re about two hours away from the Michigan border, but both have been running on one night’s sleep for almost four days, and need to rest before continuing further. While Steven is collecting their scant belongings, Andrew checks them into the seedy motel with a bright smile and some glamour to take care of their bill. He’s back at the car with their key in record time, and pulls Steven in for a short, sweet kiss before leading them to their door. 

Once they’re inside, they go about setting up the perfunctory angel and demon booby traps, wards, and sigils like they do with every place they’ve stopped at. When they’re all set up, Steven sinks back onto the bed and groans deeply, hands scrubbing over his tired face. 

Andrew crawls in next to him, hands easily finding Steven’s. 

“You look exhausted,” Andrew says, smiling at him. “Those dark circles are no joke, baby.” 

Steven smiles back, eyes falling shut. “I’m going to fall asleep the second we lay down.” 

Andrew looks like he wants to make another teasing remark, but it falls closer to concern when he tells Steven: “Good. You need to sleep or you’re going to get sick, you dummy.” 

“Rich coming from you,” Steven replies, more of a sigh than words. “Whatever. Sleep, now.” 

“Sleep, now.” Andrew agrees, and they wriggle under the covers with a combined effort. As soon as Andrew turns the lights off and pulls Steven into his arms, Steven is out, as promised. 

Andrew continues to lie awake in the dark, one hand pressed between Steven’s shoulders and the other one carding through his messy hair. He looks like he wants to fall asleep too, like his vessel is aching for it, but he doesn’t close his eyes for a long, long time. He stares up at the ceiling and clings to Steven, seemingly waiting for something or someone to come for them in their vulnerable state. 

After almost an hour, he falls into an uneasy sleep, and this is when the scheming starts up again. 

“So, what now?” Tania asks the room at large. “And _no_ Dreamers, you four piece of shit freaks.” 

Zach sticks his tongue out at her, and Eugene just shrugs his shoulders, as if to say _Your loss, bro._

“They’ve got wards up,” Curly points out. His fingers are drumming on the tabletop, a casual sign of his building anxiety. “The Hounds can’t get in. Or anyone else, for that matter.” 

There’s a pause, and then Keith says: “Hey, aren’t there a lot of rogue wolves in the Indiana area?” 

TJ stares. “You want us to use Hellhound miniatures?” 

“They’re not Hellhounds, so they’ll be able to slip through the wards. Regular wolves won’t be able to cause bodily harm, but they’ll still be able to fuck with them.” 

Niki laughs meanly. “That’s your back-up plan? _Werewolves?_ This jury was truly curated for success.” 

“Well, what’s your great idea, then?” Keith asks her. 

“I don’t _have_ an idea. I don’t want to test their survival skills! I don’t care about watching them duel a pack of wolves. This entire situation is ridiculous, and if I could walk away from it, I would.” She turns to Kelsey, looking apologetic but not regretful. “Sorry, boss, but I’m not cut out for hunting and torture. I’m better at judgement.” 

Kelsey nods calmly. “I understand. That’s what your job is supposed to be. The demons are here for the other part.” 

Ryan still doesn’t understand why all of this is necessary, anyways. He wishes they would have just banished Steven and Andrew from the start and been done with it. It would have been an easier pill to swallow than watching Steven run the gauntlet and waiting to see what pieces of him will remain on the other end. 

“Why is the other part of this jury even needed?” he asks, unable to hold his tongue any longer. “And I’m not asking that to be difficult. I genuinely cannot understand why the torture is a necessary aspect of this trial. A judgement panel would have been enough.” 

“What, so you can exonerate Steven Lim of his crimes and condemn Andrew Ilnyckyj for the same ones?” Adam gives Ryan another one of his rageous, piercing stares, even the faintest trace of their uneasy truce gone. “We’re here to make it fair. You can think and say what you want about the nature of demons and how we collect our souls, but know this: everyone sent to Hell deserves to be there for one reason or another. Steven is not exempt of this same decision because of the wings on his back.” 

“Then we send him there, and stop with the wild chase.” Ryan’s entire body turns to ice at just the thought of Steven actually being sentenced to the rest of eternity in Hell, but he hates the thought of chasing and tormenting him more. “I don’t care if they are the front-runners of their ranks. They don’t deserve to be hunted like animals.” 

“You think the torture is going to stop once they’re back in Hell? Andrew is going to be stripped of his title, and Steven is going to get thrown down into Hell like he just died for the first time. They’re going to be pulled apart and wadded back together just like every other entry-level chump who winds up Downstairs.”

When Ryan says nothing, afraid of what will spill out if he tries to speak, Adam just shakes his head and tells him: “This is nothing, Bergara. The Hounds nipping at their heels between Michigan and Indiana? They’re going to be wishing for just a few run-ins with entry-level angels and demons and the fucking Hounds if they both get sent to Hell right now. The torture they’ll face will be relentless for the next hundred years. And maybe another hundred after that.” 

There must be something on his face, something that slipped out through his carefully made facade, because Ned takes one look at him and laughs deeply. 

“You had no idea, did you? How long have you been around for now, Ry-Ry? You’re not much older than Garrett.” 

At the mention of Garrett, one of the younger demons and a highly skilled Dreamer, Ryan bares his teeth. “That _boy_ couldn’t lift his hand before I eviscerated him back to Hell. Do not fucking compare me to him, Fulmer. I’ll make it quite clear to you just how old I am.” 

Ned seems amused by Ryan’s snappish reply. “Almost a thousand years as an angel and you’re still clueless to how the hierarchy of our realm works. What a shame.” 

“Maybe we should lay it out a little more for you,” Sara adds. Ryan sees a lot of Shane in the malicious grin she gives him, knows that the two are them are thicker than thieves and a force to be reckoned with. “When they eventually get called home, Andrew’s going to start off as a grunt for a few centuries. And maybe, after a lot of grovelling and a lot of repentance, which I know you’re a huge fan of, he might be able to get back to being a Greater demon. He won’t ever be TJ’s right hand again, but he might get the privilege of sitting on a council just like this one someday. Steven is never going to be anything but a Level One punching bag. He is never going to be let off of that chopping block, and he is never going to be anything in Hell but a piece of meat for Level Threes like beginner-Eugene to carve up, over and over and over again.” 

Without thinking, Ryan yells a sharp, thunderous: _“Stop!”_ into the council chamber. 

The single word echoes throughout the room long after it leaves his mouth. Other than that, the chamber remains completely silent, and every single pair of eyes pin themselves to Ryan’s shaking body. He can feel that ubiquitous sensation of his True Form trying to break free from his vessel, can feel the way it pushes against all of his muscles and seams. He breathes heavily to keep his Form underneath the surface of his skin, hands fisted into the fabric of his pants hard enough to tear them. It’s suffocatingly silent, and the more breaths that Ryan takes the more he feels like he’s drowning, the more he feels like he’ll never be able to breathe again.

When the shaking of his body finally calms to a slight tremble, Sara speaks to him again. The malice in her voice is softer this time, could maybe be calming if the words that accompany it weren’t: 

“That’s why we have to torture them a little. They have no idea what’s coming for them when they eventually give this useless dream up. We have to keep it square.” 

TJ jumps back into the discussion to put his foot down. “Yes. Thank you for being the first one who needed to hear it, Bergara, but this goes out to all of you wondering why we needed to organize the trial the way we did. It’s all about making sure that these two know that no matter what, no matter why they chose to do what they did, there are always going to be consequences. There’s always going to be something waiting to rip you apart in between the tiny, meaningless moments of joy. That this is why Hell and Heaven _are not to mix.”_

Ryan wants to keep pushing it, wants to stand up and scream until his heart bursts. He still doesn’t understand it and doesn’t ever plan on understanding it. The trial, the hunting, the torture, the mindless horror. As far as he knows, this is the only time that Steven and Andrew have ever deviated from the plan as normal. Is there no mercy in one small mistake, in one defiance? 

He’s still not completely in control of his emotions, and everyone sees the way that his face shudders, the way that this whole situation is pulling all of his guts out in handfuls. There are a few snickers from the demons, and an overwhelming sense of pity from the angels around him who have mostly maintained their blank faces. 

And there is a dark, humored sigh that comes from the head of the table. Ryan slowly moves his eyes from TJ to TJ’s right, where Shane is looking over at Ryan like he’s never met a more helpless soul in his life. 

“You’ve really been holding out hope that Steven would emerge unscathed, haven’t you? There’s no version of this trial where he comes out without penalty. There’s no version of this trial where he comes out without losing something great to him.” 

There’s a shift to Shane’s face after he says this. His ruthless sneer breaks apart long enough for Ryan to see something else sitting right behind it. It looks a lot like the same fear, the same doomed terror that Adam presented to him a few nights prior when they were talking about Steven and Andrew losing their ranks. It’s there long enough that Ryan can tell that there is something else in these words that Shane spits at him, and that they’ve been there since the start of this whole mess, but he hasn’t let them surface by choice. 

And then he fixes his face so that it’s back to being nothing but cold, dark cruelty. 

“I don’t think we’ve been going that hard on them, to be completely honest with you,” Shane reveals, the curl of his lip like the edge of a knife. “They’re Greaters. They should know better than to pull a stunt like this and waste of all our times.” 

Ryan feels a little lightheaded by the implications of this statement. TJ, though, takes it in stride. 

“Do you have something in mind?” 

“I thought you would never ask, boss. Rumor on the grapevine is that Darragh finished her mission last night and has some free time before her new assignment.” 

Kelsey Darragh is one of the only other demons that Ryan avoids at all costs, one that he would rather face a hundred Dreamers than ever speak to. She’s even older than Shane, but focuses her talents on targeting and seducing specific high-risk subjects rather than keep the ranks of Hell where they’re supposed to be, like Shane does with TJ. She’s the best at what she does, and the terror Ryan feels at her getting to Steven is like nothing he’s ever felt before.

TJ makes a low, considering noise. “Darragh’s done with that mob prince, then?” 

“Sealed the deal last night,” Shane confirms. “With a big Goddamn kiss.” 

_“Madej,”_ Kelsey warns. 

TJ waves her off. “What’s your proposal?” 

“Darragh is great at being where she’s not supposed to be. I bet if we give her their location, she could find a way to get to them, one that none of the other grunts would ever think of. Like into the ground and through the pipes. Something Andrew and Steven would never need to take preventative measures against.” 

“What would she do after she gets to them? She specializes in talking, and Andrew’s not too keen on partaking in anything of that sort with her. He knows most of her tricks.” 

Shane tilts his head, considering. “Well, she _was_ recruited for the chopping block way back in the day, remember? She was great at pairing words with hits.” 

TJ raises his eyebrows. “You want her to kick their asses?” 

“Nah,” Shane says, and then he looks at Ryan, who hasn’t looked away from him for a second. “I want her to kick Steven’s ass and make Andrew watch.” 

The words form a fist around Ryan’s throat and squeeze, hard enough to force a noise from it. The noise comes out wild and serrated, and makes Shane’s face split open on another gruesome smile. 

Ryan gets halfway out of his seat before Daysha and Jen are there, trying to reel him in. He doesn’t look away from Shane even as they try to bodily drag him back into his chair, makes it perfectly fucking clear that he is not going to sit back and be silent while these fucking demons go for his oldest friend. 

“I swear on Him,” Ryan rasps, “I swear on God Himself that I will kill you if you do this.” 

“Oh, is that so?” 

“I’ll do it myself. I’ll track you to the edge of the universe, and then beyond that if I have to. I won’t rest until I’ve cut you into a thousand pieces and scattered them where no one will ever be able to find them again. I’ll burn them all with Holy Fire and then I’ll burn them again!” 

The demons all giggle amongst themselves at this oath, so Ryan lets his vessel split enough to show the severity of his promise. He raises a few feet higher than his normal height, until he’s towering over every single person at the table. It wipes the humor off of the demons’ faces and leaves behind trepidation. 

Ryan can see the Light of his True Form spearing between the webbing of his fingers and through his solar plexus, the first to go whenever he transforms. He hangs onto the rest of it by the skin of his teeth, leaving enough mind to remember his binding duty to serve on this jury and not attack any of the demons. He’s old enough that he could punch through the bind if he needed to, even if it takes out half of his Form with it. 

“Do not doubt me,” he tells Shane, voice deepening. “I _swear on God Himself,_ if you harm Steven in this way, I will not stop until you’re nothing more than a smear on your boss’ throne.” 

Another heavy silence falls on the group. Ryan keeps his gaze on Shane, and Shane keeps his gaze on Ryan, any remaining humor altering into that cruelty he wears so well. Despite how standoffish he was at the diner, despite how much he wanted Shane to leave and never look back, despite how his heart fluttered when Shane touched his chin in the hallway scant hours before, Ryan can’t help but mourn the burning of their feeble bridge. But he bids it farewell more than he mourns it, and does not back down. 

TJ lets them glare at each other for longer than Ryan would have thought, but when it’s clear that Ryan is not going to take the words back, and that Shane has none to respond with, he points at Ryan and tells him: 

“Sit down, Bergara, or I’ll send you to Hell with your wings still attached so the grunts can rip them off of you.” 

“Then shut the idea down. Darragh is not to go anywhere near those two.” 

“Don’t you fucking dare tell me what to do. I’m _your_ boss here in this council chamber, and I will be so until the trial concludes.” 

“I don’t care! I’m not backing down until you tell me that Darragh is going to stay far away from Steven and Andrew, and that they won’t be coming into contact with her unless they know about it beforehand.” 

TJ assesses him callously, Form coiling out from his mouth and his palms. “That is an order, Bergara, and I mean it. I choose what does and does not happen on this trial, and if you don’t learn how to hold your tongue, I’ll assign Darragh _and_ Garrett to them. They’re the best of friends, in case you forgot—they’d be delighted at the chance to work together again.” 

Kelsey finally speaks up as well. “Ryan, stand down.” 

“I’m not going to stand down, not on this. I refuse.” 

Ryan thinks that TJ is going to let his True Form loose once and for all, and use it to rip him to shreds. He welcomes it, welcomes the chance of getting to fight TJ Marchbank in his True Form like he has since he first became an Archangel. But instead of lashing out with his Form, TJ just laughs. 

“I already told you that I’m in control of what happens on this trial. Kelsey can come to your rescue all she wants, but just like she controls the Holy measures we take against these two, I control all of the players from Hell. You think Darragh beating the shit out of Steven would be bad? Imagine what would happen if I told her to do it the other way around. Imagine if I told her to take Andrew apart down to his Form, stitch him back together, and do it all over again and make Steven _watch every minute of it.”_

Ryan can only handle the thought of it for a second. The thought of Kelsey Darragh splitting Andrew at the seams and Steven stuck inside of an angel ward, unable to stop her. He can already see Steven beating against the walls of the ward until his knuckles turn bloody, until he faints from screaming so hard and so loud that every angel in Heaven would be able to hear it for years afterwards. Getting torn apart by Darragh would fuck Steven up, but making him watch it happen to Andrew would _ruin_ him. 

He stares at TJ, eyes wide. “Bastard.” 

The shock of the idea takes most of the fight from his body, and Daysha and Jen use the opportunity to pull Ryan into his seat. He goes, the fire in his gut fading as quickly as it came. 

TJ watches him sink down, face nothing but an endless stretch of wickedness. “You get to choose for me.” 

“What?” 

“Don’t play dumb. You heard what I fucking said—you get to choose how it happens.” 

“I—” Ryan chokes a little, the lightheadedness sweeping over him once more. “No. I won’t—I won’t choose. I’ll _never_ choose.” 

“It’s happening one way or another.” TJ points down the table to the very last demon in line. “Fulmer, you’ll be the one to summon Darragh. Once Bergara tells me who he picks, you’ll fetch her for us, won’t you?”

Ned looks uncharacteristically stoic, but doesn’t miss a beat. “Of course, boss. I’d be happy to.” 

“So, I once again ask: which one is getting their ass kicked tonight, Bergara?”

Ryan begins to shake again, but this time without the accompanying push of his Form. He just shakes and shakes, unable to make such an impossible decision. Kelsey doesn’t step in to stop it, even though Ryan keeps hoping; he looks to her for help, to silently plead for her to stop this, but all she does is look back. Ryan feels hopelessness rise within him like an all-consuming sickness and wishes for the first time in many, many centuries that he had just died and stayed dead after all. 

But even with the suffocating terror, and the scorn he feels for the demons, he still refuses to give into their whims. So he drags his eyes away from Kelsey’s impassive jaw and says: 

“I choose myself.” 

TJ blinks. “I’m sorry?” 

“I choose myself,” he says again. At his side, Daysha stifles a gasp, and across the table, Shane Madej’s face reveals another flash of doomed terror before closing right back up. In this moment, Ryan hates him so deeply and so wholly that it makes his blood burn in his veins. “I would rather let Darragh torture me a thousand times over than let her do it to them.” 

This proclamation seems to take TJ by genuine surprise. He hesitates, before asking: “Even Andrew Ilnyckyj?” 

“Even Andrew Ilnyckyj.” 

“If I summoned Darragh here right now and made you sit and take her blade over and over again, just so that Andrew and Steven could avoid it for a night, you’d let it happen?” 

“Without hesitation,” Ryan says, soft and deadly. “Without a second thought.” 

The words send a ripple throughout the jury. Every angel and demon and their Forms spark in response to the idea of Archangel Ryan Bergara letting Greater demon Kelsey Darragh torture him on behalf of the two people who broke their most sacred rule without batting an eye. If he could feel anything past the desperation to keep Steven safe, he might be offended by their lack of faith in his ability to endure and protect. 

As it is, even TJ regards him a small amount of disbelief. Ryan doesn’t lower his stare, and he doesn’t relax his stance. He keeps looking and looking and looking and dares Ned to call Darragh to them. 

TJ seems like he’s greatly considering the idea, but in the end, he shakes his head. 

“That’s a nice thought, but I’m going to do you one better, Bergara.” When he declines to respond, dread filling every crevice of his body, TJ continues with: “I’m not going to let you take their punishment. You know what I’m going to do instead, thanks to your outstanding courage and bravery?” 

Ryan thinks that he might vomit, but he still doesn’t look away. 

“I’m not going to torture them. I’m going to do worse—I’m going to let them have a night off.” 

That—is not _at all_ what Ryan was expecting him to say. It catches him off guard enough that his face creases, effectively ruining his hard glare. TJ says it again. 

“I’m going to let them have the night off. I’m not going to send anything or anyone after them. I’ll even let Darragh have the night off, too, I bet she’ll be thrilled.” He places his carefully folded hands on the table, and even though his expression is amicable, Ryan can still tell how pissed off he is. “No, I’m not going to torture or hunt them tonight. Instead, I’m going to let them rest and be with each other. I’m going to let them let their guards down. I’m going to let them believe that there may be a small, tiny chance that we’re calling off our trackers and letting them do as they please.” 

Ryan can’t help but ask: “Why?” 

And the expression on TJ’s face is terrible when he responds with: “Because there’s nothing that cuts deeper than hope. There’s nothing that hurts more to lose.” 

There is a truth to these words that even Ryan can’t find within himself to fight. He feels numbness spiral throughout his body and he finally sinks into it, lets himself back down from this pointless, mindless fight. Losing hope is something that he has become intimately familiar with over the past few months, but it still hurts like a fresh, throbbing bruise to feel it slowly trickle out of his heart now. 

TJ takes this silence for what it is: submission. He gives Ryan another hard, vaguely amused stare and watches him sit all the way back in his seat. He watches Ryan fold in on himself, take his fire with him, and revels in it. 

“Andrew Ilnyckyj and Steven Lim thank you for this chance,” TJ says sarcastically. “For one last good night’s rest before the chaos ensues.” 

The numbness plucks all of the emotion out of Ryan and leaves him with nothing but a blank, empty face to give TJ in return. TJ seems to be satisfied by it, anyway, and lets Ryan off the hook with one last sneer. 

“Now that the show’s over, we can continue for a few more hours. Just to make sure nothing else exciting happens.” 

Ryan’s eyes fall to where Steven and Andrew are still curled up in each other’s arms, blissfully unaware of the shitstorm he almost created in the council chamber and the shitstorm he probably just created for them out on the road. Whatever relief he could have hoped to gain from accepting a night of torture in their place is gone, replaced by the dread of knowing that the trial is only going to get worse from here on out. 

He takes whatever comfort he can from watching them sleep peacefully. No one says another word, and Ryan is lucky that he didn’t get cast from the parthenon and down into Hell like he probably should have been, but it brings him no relief. Ryan is lucky that he doesn’t have a dagger buried in his ribs and a smooth, piercing voice to match whispering his many hidden desires into his ear, into the room for anyone to hear.

He still feels like Kelsey Darragh worked him over, anyways. 

**_~.~.~_ **

When the night concludes, Ryan wordlessly gets up and makes for the door. Daysha says his name quietly, but he doesn’t wait for her, and he doesn’t look back. He makes for the door and only his overwhelming need to be alone keeps him from collapsing onto his knees. 

Ryan makes it all the way to the top of the staircase and then to the hall where all of the angels’ sleeping chambers reside before someone manages to stop him. The only warning he receives is a sudden, heavy footstep and a large, warm hand wrapping itself around his bicep. 

He turns, expecting it to be Curly; instead, it’s Shane, wearing that revolting look of doomed terror. The sight of it, the sight of that tortured expression on someone who deserves it more than Andrew ever will, burns the numbness in Ryan up and sets the rest of him ablaze, too. 

“Ryan,” Shane starts, and then stops, trying to find the words to say. 

The way his mouth curls around the shape of Ryan’s name makes that fire surge up inside of him, takes any sliver of compassion he’s ever had towards Shane Madej and turns it to dark, brittle ash inside of his chest. 

He pulls his arm from Shane’s grasp hard enough that it makes him stumble. Shane reaches again, as if to steady Ryan, and Ryan throws his hand up to stop him. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he gasps. The hand in front of him is trembling dangerously, white Light glaring from between each individual finger. Shane recoils at the sight of it, just a small flinch of his shoulders, but it’s enough to give Ryan the space he needs. “Don’t _fucking touch me.”_

Shane tries again, says: “Ryan,” in that destroyed tone of voice that might make him buckle if it were under any other circumstances except for this one. Instead, Ryan gives him a look that is all fire and repulsion and takes another step back. 

“Fuck you.” Shane stares down at him, lost, and Ryan is horrified to feel tears welling in his eyes. His voice quivers when he asks: “Remember just a few days ago, when you asked me what it was about you that I hate so much? Congratulations, now you have your answer.” 

“I didn’t—” 

When Shane doesn’t finish that sentence either, Ryan does it for him. 

“You ‘didn't’ what? Mean it?” He waits for Shane to say something else, but he’s met only with silence. “Fuck you, Shane Madej. I’m so, _so_ tired of your manipulative bullshit and being pulled into it. I mean it with everything I’ve got left when I say fuck you forever.” 

Shane takes another step and says: “I’m sorry.” 

Ryan chokes on a sob and whirls away from him, trembling so badly he’s surprised he doesn’t fall onto the floor. “Don’t ever come near me again or I’ll follow through on my promise to kill you. You’ll be praying for it to be Darragh instead.” 

He hears a strangled breath, but no more footsteps, and takes it as a cursed victory. Ryan practically sprints to his sleeping chamber and throws himself inside just in time to muffle another sob. While he leans against the door and cries into his glowing palm, he vows to himself that once the trial has concluded, no matter the outcome, he will do whatever it takes to never see Shane again, will go to the edge of the universe and beyond that if he has to. 

He has discovered, after all, that there is one thing worse to lose than hope, one thing that cuts deeper still than hope’s destruction. 


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wake me up, wakE me up INSIDE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow!!!!!! holy fuck yall!!!!! the response for the first chapter of this was NOT what i was expecting omg fduifafsfasb i'm glad that you all reacted so well to my return and this au :")))) i will be replying to comments shortly because this week has been its own fucking trial but just know i read every single one and cried a lil!!!!! thank you so so much for your kind words!!! i hope you all enjoy what's to come for this fic because it's gonna be a lot!!! and i know i'm posting this chapter like a day earlier than last time but idc i want to post the updates for this earlier in the week if i can to give us all a serotonin boost lmfao 
> 
> also, there's really not a good place in the fic to explain this even though i tried a little so: the reason that standrew have been gone for about 4 months at this point but are only to the midwest is because they tried to hide in heaven and hell and then like,,,, the in between/purgatory for awhile, but then they were like "hey maybe if we didn't use our powers to hide and just went on a fugitive roadtrip we'll lose them" and obviously it doesn't work but they don't know that so tj and kelsey let them think they're only catching glimpses of them here and there so i hope that makes sense as to why they're just starting a trek across the usa 4 months into their escape 
> 
> so here is ch2!!! i hope yall enjoy the fucking angsty nonsense here because i had sooo much fun writing all of it lmfao very cathartic. also special shout-out to zero for being my hero ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ ily buddy

Everyone notices when Ryan’s fire fizzles out and leaves behind nothing but a charred emptiness. 

It was one of the aspects of this trial pretty much guaranteed right out of the gate: TJ would be insufferable, Eugene, Keith, Ned, and Zach would be as obnoxious as possible, Quinta and Niki would be the steady rocks they all needed, and Ryan would fight every single step of the way. When Curly saw him enter the council chamber for the first time, he told Ryan: “Oh, good. We’re not going down without a fight.” When Tania saw him enter for the first time, she scowled and told him: “I’m already fucking sick of hearing your voice and we haven’t even started this shitshow.” 

Ryan has been kicking back against almost every single decision since they began this journey of judgement and persecution. But now he remains silent whenever they’re stationed at the jury panel and simply watches Steven and Andrew make their choices. The day after his big blow-out with Shane and TJ, he arrived on time like normal and didn’t say a word the entire grueling day they spent following the couple around lower, mid, and then upper Michigan. Even when Keith tried to coax a snarl out of him, and TJ commented on his lack of bite, Ryan didn’t say a single fucking word. He just calmly blinked at whoever was taunting him, and then looked away, back to the telecast. 

All of the angels tried to open him back up. A few, like Maycie, Niki, and Annie, gave him encouraging looks, heads held high. Quinta stopped him on their way into the council chamber one morning and quietly asked him not to give up hope, to help her keep pushing back on this trial. Curly and Jen had tried to ambush him during a break and ask what was going on with him, why he clammed up when he was on the brink of cracking the demons open, and Ryan had only shook his head and told them that he was the farthest thing from victory that someone could get. 

Daysha, however, followed him into his sleeping chambers one night, the night where they were all going to get to sleep. He’d let her in wordlessly, and she had turned around right there by the door and gently touched Ryan’s cheek. 

_ “Where’d you go?” _ she’d sighed, thumb brushing under his eye. 

The loving touch made his voice hitch, but Ryan didn’t let anything else out but that.  _ “I didn’t go anywhere. I just got tired of being heard and not listened to.”  _

The look on her face had threatened to bring him to his knees, but still he remained stoic, as in control of his emotions and body as he possibly could. The look was worse than pity, or remorse; it had been devastation, it had been a profound, anguished grief. 

_ “Don’t slip away,”  _ was all she could say, backing out through the door again.  _ “Don’t let them take you back into Hell with them.”  _

Today is more of the same: Ryan silently watching Steven and Andrew steal away into the upper peninsula of Michigan and wishing more than anything that he was with them while the demons at the table try to pry his jaws open. The angels are trying their best to keep the demons off of his back, but Ryan knows that he’s exuding the exact perfume that draws them in like flies to honey: a wound that bleeds longing and misery. He knows that it’s a frog and scorpion situation, that the demons can’t help but feed off of his wound and try to make it bleed more. 

On the telecast, Steven and Andrew are taking a careful walk along the bank of a river, hands tangled and faces unpinched. TJ watches them stroll with hungry, glinting eyes, and Ryan does nothing to try and keep him from ruining their calm moment. 

At some point, Steven breaks the peaceful silence with: 

“You know, this is really all I want.” 

Andrew looks up. “What’s that?” 

“This.” Steven gives their joined hands a swing and gestures at the river and surrounding forest with the other hand. “I want to live in a quiet town and have the highlight of my day be holding hands with you.” 

The way Andrew stares at Steven, with stars in his eyes and every single last emotion spread across his face, makes Ryan’s bones ache. The love he proudly and remorselessly shows for Steven is something that Ryan has never witnessed in his entire existence; even Steven’s love for God cannot be touched by the ferocity of Andrew’s love for Steven. 

“Yeah?” 

The love is similarly consuming and severe when Steven looks back at him. 

“I am  _ so tired, _ man. I would give anything to just… stay here and be with you. Live out our days taking walks and being obligated to no one but each other. I’m exhausted after two millennia of serving. I want something for myself for once.” He takes a deep breath, and then finishes with: “I want  _ you.” _

Steven makes to walk on, like he didn’t just shatter Andrew’s entire world with a speech like that. Andrew pulls him back, turns and pulls him right into the circle of his arms, and kisses him deeply. Steven makes a soft noise, and then kisses back, free hand coming up to rest on Andrew’s shoulder. 

When they part, Andrew whispers in between them: “I’ll do whatever it takes to let you have that. To let  _ us _ have that.” 

“I don’t know if we ever can. It was just a thought. I know that we might have to keep running until the sun burns up and takes us with it.” 

“We’re going to find a way,” Andrew promises, undeterred. “I don’t care if it takes until the sun burns up or until every angel and demon trying to stop us is dead. I’ll make it happen, Steven. I promise you.” 

Steven is obviously skeptical. But he must find comfort in the words, in knowing that Andrew is serious enough to risk everything for this quest, because he grins beautifully and says: “I think you’re supposed to close deals with a kiss, are you not?” 

“I love you,” Andrew declares, and then kisses him again to seal their deal. 

Ryan barely has to wait a beat before the demons are all swearing and begging for death. 

“Boss, this is fucking awful to watch,” Eugene laments, looking genuinely disgusted. “Can we please filter out their love declarations?” 

“We’re not filtering anything. Quit your whining.” 

“It’s so agonizing to watch them suck on each other’s tongues,” Tania adds, lowering her head to the table. 

Sara, too, looks ready to retch. “Anything would be better to watch, honestly. Send the Hounds just so they’ll stop making out.” 

At this suggestion, Zach looks over at Ryan. “I’ve got the perfect solution to our discontent—Bergara, you still up for a round with Darragh? We’d love to cash in that favor, por favor.” 

Kelsey Darragh’s name sends a hot bolt of nausea through him, right into his bloody, miserable wound. The demons notice, because their eyes get blacker and their teeth get more jagged, but Ryan doesn’t react other than that. He continues to remain completely aloof, and says nothing in response. 

Ned takes his silence as refusal. “Aw, come on. Don’t be like that. We were promised a show and now we want one. It sounds like a square deal to me.” 

“You’re forgetting something!” Keith gestures with a finger. “We didn’t seal it with a kiss.” 

Ned looks put out for all of two seconds, and then he’s sending a wide-mouthed leer Ryan’s way. “We can get that fixed up nice and easy. How about I come and give you a kiss and then Darragh comes and gives you what you signed up for?” 

A week ago, this would have made Ryan recoil and vow to eventually acquire Ned Fulmer’s head on a spike. Today, it does nothing to ruin his even temperament or his lack of answer. The anger and the nausea are always there, like a sick, squirming entity inside of him, but he doesn’t let them control the rest of his body. Because he, too, has become very, very fucking exhausted from doing nothing but serving and fighting. 

The silence that follows Ned’s taunting is awkward and stilted while Ryan stares back at him. Unmoving and completely impassive over the twisting of his stomach. 

“C’mon,” Ned tries again, more annoyed than teasing this time. “Give me  _ something _ to work with here.” 

When he does nothing, Sara makes a low growling noise like she’s going to launch herself at him. 

“What, you think you’re too good for us now? The boss doesn’t let you be the martyr just this once and so you’re done playing the game? I bet you’ll hold out right up until TJ makes a Dreamer convince Steven Lim he’s killing a Hound and he wakes up to find he’s killed his One True Love.” 

All Ryan does is tilt his chin a fraction higher, so that his blank, emotionless look becomes even more so. This makes the demons at the table stir, like every single one of them has taken offense to him not being their chew toy anymore. 

One demon in particular gives him an acerbic grimace, one meant to convey exactly how petty he finds Ryan’s silent treatment to be.

Shane says his name with intent, with the hopes to punish and awaken all in one go. “Bergara.” 

Ryan gives him nothing, not a single word, not a single twitch of his jaw. All he spares is an equally acerbic glare meant to convey a message, one that shouts:  _ You made your bed and now you get to lie in it.  _

It’s common knowledge that Ryan being part of this jury meant that he was going to fight against every single decision made on it. It’s also common knowledge there is no demon in any plane of existence that gets a rise out of Ryan more than Shane Madej. So, when he has nothing to say at Shane’s very blatant attempt to piss him off, it takes the taunting edge out of this game and turns it into something grim. It stops being which demon can annoy Ryan enough to get him to talk and becomes which demon can hurt Ryan enough to get him to talk. 

That demon, apparently, is Adam Bianchi. 

“Fuck you,” he spits. “You still think you’re the only one here with something to lose? That you’re the only one here who’s suffering while watching their friend be hunted down? Get the fuck over yourself. You’re no better than anyone else on this jury, and Steven is no better than Andrew. We’re all carrying the same weight.” 

The others at the table are all looking at the two of them, TJ and Kelsey included. Steven and Andrew continue their walk on the telecom, but no eyes follow them down the river—they are all pinned to Adam and Ryan and the tumultuous tension rising between them. 

Ryan is a little pissed that this is what tempts him to react above everything else the demons have been lobbing at him all week. Not any of the crude jokes, the demand to see Darragh torture him as offered, or even their disgusting comments about Steven and Andrew’s relationship. The thing that’s going to break him is Adam’s condescending tone of voice and the way he completely missed the point of Ryan’s silence succeeding his screaming. 

He thinks about keeping it to himself, continuing with his silent treatment and not giving Adam, of all demons, the satisfaction. But then he thinks about how Adam is kind of right, that they’re all suffering, and Ryan is the only one who has tried to put some sort of active stop to it, the only one who has actively tried to defy his vow to this jury. 

Ryan lets the tension simmer for a moment longer, lets Adam get nice and worked up and lets the other demons lean in in anticipation, and then he says, so softly that it’s almost a whisper: 

_ “We’re _ all carrying weight? What about them?” 

He points at Steven and Andrew, and Adam can only look at them for a second before he has to look away again. The fury in his eyes is like nothing Ryan has ever seen before, and Adam’s Form starts the slither out of his ears and from between his teeth. 

“That’s not the same. They chose this path, and because of their actions, we’re being forced to watch them endure the consequences. We didn’t choose to watch them be hunted down, but we’re still bearing that fucking cross, aren’t we?” 

Ryan doesn’t match his anger in volume; instead, he matches Adam’s anger in coldness, in a rage that makes him feel wrung out. “You’re right. We all have a choice. And I chose to make it absolutely crystal clear that I didn’t want to be part of this jury, and that I don’t care that Steven is in love with a demon. That I don’t  _ want _ to watch anything happen to Andrew, despite him being a demon. I did what I could to prove that I would rather take the torture than sit back and silently watch as it’s bestowed upon them. Can you say the same?” 

Adam cannot, so he does not. He stares at Ryan with hatred blistering across the harsh planes of his face and smoking out of the pores of his vessel, but he doesn’t lie. He doesn’t try to pretend like he’s gone to the same lengths as Ryan, or put his own safety on the line in exchange for Steven and Andrew’s. 

At the sight of so much hatred and resentment, Ryan is abruptly back to being exhausted. He deflates in his seat, and shoves the heel of a hand into his forehead. 

“Say what you want to and about me,” Ryan tells him, voice rough. “But don’t falsely get on your high horse and then tell me to dismount mine. I don’t think I’m better than you, and I don’t think Steven is better than Andrew. I’m the one who has been fighting the hardest and loudest to shut this whole thing down. I’ve been the only one willing to bodily fight for their safety thus far. I’m the only one willing to stand in front of them when it comes down to it.” 

“So what?” Adam asks, but it’s weak. All the fury in his voice has been reduced to a quiet bitterness. “That doesn’t mean I love him less than you love Steven.” 

“No, it doesn’t,” Ryan agrees, and meets his eyes again. “It just means that I love Steven enough to want to take that weight off of him. I love him enough to want to bear his cross and let him be free of it.” Adam looks a little choked by this statement, and it pushes Ryan to say: “I’ve been carrying that kind of weight for a long time. Steven and Andrew don’t deserve it.” 

“What weight could you possibly have to carry?” 

“Who at this table  _ doesn’t _ have a weight to carry?” 

There’s another pause, another hesitation, because this is an irrefutable fact. Every single last one of them carries weights that no one else at the table could even begin to imagine. 

In the end, Adam just shakes his head like he’s greatly disappointed in Ryan. “So, what? You’re just going to give up? Just going to subject yourself to cowardly compliance like the rest of us?” 

Ryan feels the last dredges of fire sputter out, and in their wake is his newfound cool indifference. His voice is carefully neutral again when he replies: “Fuck  _ you, _ Bianchi. I don’t owe you anything, much less an explanation. Be your own fucking hero for once. I think I’ve earned my silence.” 

Ryan sits back in his seat and carefully folds his hands in his lap, like he never moved or spoke in the first place. His eyes fall to the telecast, where Steven and Andrew are now sitting with their feet in the river and Steven’s head comfortably resting on Andrew’s shoulder. He can hear the hisses coming from the demons in response to his dig at Adam and at their collective cowardice, but he doesn’t engage again. He’s said his piece, and he intends to continue his well-deserved silence. 

In a last-ditch effort to get him to snap again, Shane says: 

“Angel, maybe that weight on your shoulders is from holding your head up so high all the time. I’m not sure I believe it when you say you don’t think you’re better than us, even with that little speech.” 

Ryan glances at him and tilts his head, as if to say:  _ Think what you want.  _ And then he looks away and goes back to ignoring everyone. None of the demons try to piss him off again for the rest of the night, but the relief he should feel is only another numb, empty layer on top of all of the other ones. He silently sits and longs for the end of the trial, longs for a taste of the kind of freedom that comes with shedding a weight you’ve been carrying for so long you forgot when it started piling up onto your back. 

**_~.~.~_ **

A few nights later, after Steven and Andrew have been chased out of Michigan by a pair of almost-Archangels and down into Ohio, Ryan decides to spend some time outside instead of going straight to his sleeping chamber. 

Per usual, as soon as TJ and Kelsey wrap the night’s session up, Ryan is one of the first out of the room. Daysha falls in step with him, but when they get to the stairs, Ryan hangs back.

“What’s up?” she asks, sounding tired. 

He can feel the exhaustion within him, something completely separate from vessel fatigue, but he also feels incredibly awake, and he knows that sitting in his room will only make it worse. 

“I’m not ready to turn in. I think I’m gonna go sit outside by myself for a little bit.” 

Daysha smiles knowingly. “Sensory overload? I totally get it—go relax and I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” 

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

She leans down from the first step and kisses him lightly on the forehead before taking off for her sleeping chamber. Ryan watches her go, smiling for the first time all day; this is probably the worst situation he’s ever been in, but he’s glad that he has Daysha with him, and that she’s always able to calm him and his thrashing heart. 

After Daysha disappears down the hall, Ryan heads towards the other end of the main floor, opposite from the front entrance. At the back of the building and to the left, there’s a narrow door that leads outside to a small garden. Ryan discovered it by complete accident a week or so into the trial, and has been using it ever since as a place to escape to when he needs to leave the parthenon but doesn’t want to brave L.A. as a whole. He hopes desperately that no one else has the same idea as him and that he’ll be able to sit in the garden and be alone with his thoughts for a while. 

When he slips outside, he’s glad to note that it’s a cooler night than usual for summertime in Los Angeles. He winds through the various hedges and overflowing pots of vegetation to the center of the garden, where a long marble bench sits; he’s relieved to find it unoccupied and takes a seat at the end. The garden is glamoured to be able to see through the smog of L.A. and up into the Heavens, and Ryan’s breath catches as the sight of so many gleaming, beautiful stars. He can see various angels streaking across the night sky, which always look like shooting stars to the mundanes, and sends well wishes to whoever is out performing their necessary tasks. 

Ryan lets his mind go blank while studying the night sky. It’s been full of resentment and worry for weeks and weeks, and he decides that he can afford to think about something else for tonight. Instead of thinking about the last wound Steven received, a deep gash from some small fry demon’s dagger, or thinking about Adam Bianchi’s molten anger towards him, Ryan sits and thinks about nothing but the stars and the soft breeze sweeping through the garden. Eventually, he even gives up on thinking about the stars, and closes his eyes to think about nothing at all. 

He gets away with it for a good, long while—almost an hour—before he hears someone else slithering through the garden’s hedges and overflowing vegetation. He’s relaxed enough from his silent thinking that he doesn’t tense up or get angry, just tries to reach out and feel who it is. Their aura is all smoke and glowing embers, and the pang they send through Ryan’s vessel clues him in on who it is before they even find him. 

Ryan keeps his eyes closed as Shane Madej finally steps out from the edges of the garden and into the center of it. He keeps his eyes closed even as Shane’s try to coax them open, as Shane’s trail down the bared line of his throat and stay there. He doesn’t open them when Shane folds himself down onto the bench next to Ryan, close enough that he can feel the inhuman warmth radiating off of him. 

Ryan doesn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting, even though every single muscle in his body is tensed for a blow. Even though every time Shane is within a ten mile radius of him, he feels an instinctual fight-or-flight response kick in like he’s been possessed by the man in question. 

He pretends he’s nice and comfortable, so the resulting silence is anything but. He can feel the way Shane’s eyes linger on his neck, can feel the way that Shane itches to reach over and wrap those long, warm fingers all the way around it, but he doesn’t budge. The weight of his gaze and the palpable hunger radiating off of him makes Ryan feel like a caged animal, like he’s been backed into a corner without an escape route, and he hates it. He hates  _ him.  _

He expects Shane to say something mean, or obnoxiously lewd, but instead Shane just takes a deep breath, lets it out, and says: 

“You are a curious creature, Ryan Bergara.” 

It’s not what he was expecting, but it’s also not enough to get him to engage. He still feels that crushing, burning anger towards Shane from when he tried to apologize to Ryan after bringing Darragh into the situation. Luckily, she’s already out on another job, so she’s not in danger of being dragged into the trial--but the fear still rips at him, still freezes the breath in his lungs at the thought of her beloved blade getting anywhere near Steven or Andrew. He cannot forgive Shane for endangering them like that. He cannot forgive himself for somehow provoking Shane to bring up the idea at all. 

Shane waits for his response, and Ryan can feel the small, brief flicker of disappointment that results when he says and does nothing. 

“Oh, are we still not on speaking terms? Your silent treatment is holding strong and true?” 

Nothing. 

“You can try and ignore me for as long as you want, but we both know that that’s not really your style. I’m shocked you held out for as long as you did these past few days—usually no one else can get a word in edgewise with your righteous speeches and penchant for shutting down injustice.” 

Ryan feels that ever-present roar of anger at the condescension in Shane’s words, but it leaves him more exhausted than anything. Exhausted by the way the voice that belongs to them pulls him in, but the actual words themselves shove him into this inescapable corner. 

“Hundreds of years old and you’re acting like a bratty teenager. It’s honestly amusing.” 

The edge in his tone suggests otherwise; Ryan is done with the violence, with the threatening, with being treated like an amusement park ride for the demons on the jury who love to watch him fall apart over Steven. If he were a lesser angel, the hard growl of Shane’s voice would have made him flinch. Instead, it makes him turn away, makes him feel like he’s seasick and barely clinging to the side of the only buoy left in the ocean. 

Shane sucks in a quiet breath when he moves. Ryan has no idea what picture he must paint, how unlike an Archangel he must seem—a thousand year old angel collapsing under the mean words of a Greater demon, not half a foot away from him. He thinks the inhale must be one of delight, delighted hunger for a delicacy that demons rarely get to feast upon: the fear of an angel. 

But then Shane’s hand, the one Ryan thought he might wrap around the exposed column of his throat, brushes the inside of his elbow. His thin, careful fingers gently curl against the soft skin there and urge Ryan to turn back to him. 

“Please,” Shane implores, voice nothing more than a low rasp. “Please, look at me.” 

And Ryan does. The glorious feeling of skin-on-skin makes him lose his head for the briefest of moments, and he turns to look up into Shane’s beautiful amber eyes. Turns and becomes ensnared in his trap immediately, lets himself become locked inside of that cage without the faintest hope of getting out unscathed. 

Shane dips closer when they’re finally facing each other, as if there are others around them that might hear their conversation. Ryan usually bristles and flees when he gets so much as in touching distance of him, but tonight, even being connected by Shane’s hand on his arm makes Ryan feel like they’re lifetimes away from each other. He just watches Shane hunch down with the same exhausted expression he’s been wearing for days now. 

He tries to smile, but it comes out gnarled and sad. “There we go. You haven’t looked me in the eyes in forever—I was starting to worry that I’d forget what shade of brown yours are. Deep and gorgeous, just like your heart.” 

Ryan’s deep and gorgeous heart sings at these words, but he douses the Light as soon as it starts to radiate from in between his ribs. Instead of getting upset, or demanding Shane leave him alone, Ryan tells him a lie and a truth. 

“I have nothing to say to you.” 

Shane knows it to be both a lie and a truth, and scrutinizes him for it. “Your eyes say different. The beating of your heart says what you will not.” 

“I have nothing to say to you,” Ryan repeats, throat closing, “that will make a difference. I have nothing to say that you haven’t already heard.” 

“What? That you hate me? Hope to never see me again? Want to kill me?” Shane says these like he doesn’t care that they’ve been said to him by Ryan, but the tightness in his jaw and shoulders, like Ryan’s eyes, speak more than his words do. “Angel, that’s old news. You would have made it happen if you meant it.” 

Ryan looks away again. “I’ve already said to you what I mean the most. That I would rather die than let you hurt Steven the way that Kelsey Darragh would have hurt him. That I’d rather endure it than ever watch Andrew Ilnyckyj endure it.”

The attempt at humor is gone as quickly as it came and leaves behind another unbearable silence. Ryan feels every single ounce of his exhaustion press in on him, until his own shoulders are hunched with weight of it. Shane’s hand is still curled around his elbow, and it tightens when Ryan slumps, like he might have to keep him from tipping off of the bench. 

“You’re still on that?” 

The casual, callous way that Shane dismisses what happened speaks volumes, speaks even louder than his hunched shoulders, even louder than Ryan’s heavy, bruised heart. It tells Ryan everything he needs to know: that nothing he wishes, hopes, or prays for will ever change this situation, will never unmake the demon sitting next of him. Nothing he says will erase what Shane has said and done. 

“I can’t forget it. It haunts me even when I sleep. The thought of Kelsey Darragh touching either of them cuts me to the bone.” 

“It was a harmless suggestion. I knew TJ would never go for it. It was mostly to save face, and to keep things interesting.” 

“‘Keep things interesting,’” Ryan scoffs, and then pulls his arm from Shane’s hold, much like he did right after the incident and almost went sprawling. “She could kill  _ you, _ if she tried.”

“She hasn’t yet.” 

A deep, aching cold settles over him that has nothing to do with removing the warmth of Shane’s hand. This time, Ryan can’t tell if it’s from another vivid image of Darragh gutting Andrew and Steven over and over again, or if it’s the image of her gutting Shane. The thought, even the  _ slightest _ hint of the idea of Darragh touching any of them makes Ryan want to vomit. 

“She could,” Ryan whispers again. “She could kill you without even trying and leave behind nothing but the clothes on your back. And she might even take those with her, too, as a fucking souvenir.” 

Shane hesitates, a pulse of discomfort spilling between them. Ryan can feel both of their Forms, side by side, writhing and drubbing at the thought of Darragh stripping Shane of everything and moving on without looking back, without a single regret. To her, it would be another game. Another trophy to add to her long list of despicable accomplishments. 

Even he sounds exhausted when he asks: “Why do you care so much?” 

“About Darragh killing you? Good question.” 

“About this trial,” Shane clarifies, spreading his hands out towards the parthenon. “About what happens to Steven and Andrew. Why do you even care?” 

“You’re not serious.” Ryan turns to him, careful not to touch his skin. Shane, on the contrary, looks incredibly serious about his question. It stokes the fire still smoldering underneath the blanket of exhaustion and numbness, and Ryan welcomes it, calls it forth without hesitation. “Shit, you  _ are.  _ You still  _ don’t understand.” _

“I don’t understand why you’re letting the consequences of their actions affect you so deeply. They knew what would happen if they left Hell and Heaven to be together, and now they are reaping those consequences. It’s up to them to experience this trial and figure out for themselves how severe what they’ve done is. And they pulled the rest of us into it.” 

Ryan has heard this speech a million times from the demons at this point, and some variation from Kelsey. It’s always meant to convey the same message: there is a balance between Heaven and Hell that must be maintained at the expense of the world ending, and if anyone tries to upset that balance, they will be dealt with and eliminated if need be. Ryan will admit that he never really cared about angels and demons mingling and being punished previously, but when it comes to Steven and Andrew, arguably the most loyal and generous of their respective domains… he can’t see where the dire, brutal consequences come into play here. A lesser angel and demon would be careless in their relationship and cause catastrophic damage to all realms—Steven and Andrew, if allowed, would never use their relationship to throw away the careful balance between Heaven and Hell. They would keep it between themselves, and nurture it into something sustainable. 

The way that Shane parrots this tiresome speech makes Ryan’s stomach hurt. But the way his face sits as he recites the words takes him by surprise. There’s the annoyance and intolerance he expects from the demons when it comes to having to sit on a jury and watch Andrew fuck off to the Midwest with an angel. And then, in between the cracks and bends in his annoyed shield, there are more glimpses of that doomed terror, and something that looks a lot like bitter, ravenous envy. 

He finally understands that Shane is not angry because he’s tired of watching Andrew run and wants him to come home. He’s angry because he wants to be free, too, the same way that Ryan wants to be free, the same way that Adam Bianchi would sprint towards freedom if he was given half a chance to do so. 

And yet, it still doesn’t erase the fact that Shane would rather take his anger out on them than fight to keep them from being persecuted further. It doesn’t erase the fact that he has let his envy consume him, and that he lets TJ manipulate it to further his torturous hunt. 

Shane must take his devastation for something else, because he suddenly asks, void of all emotion: “Are you in love with him?” 

“Who?” 

“Steven Lim,” Shane hisses, eyes clouding over to a glinting onyx. “Are you in love with him?” 

Ryan shakes his head, so tired that it threatens to break him, so burdened by the truth that he could scream. “I’m not in love with him. Worse than even that—I love him like he’s my True Form, like he’s a chunk of my soul that’s been ripped out and set on fire. As soon as he fled Heaven, he took a piece of me with him and it hasn’t found its way back since.” 

Shane has nothing to say to this, not even a snort or a groan of disgust to spare. Ryan knows that he should stop, that he’s already even more pieces of himself away that he might never get back, but now that he’s saying the words aloud it’s like they’re being yanked out of his chest by force. 

“I would rather die than let him be killed, Darragh or no. I would take anything in his place that I could. Steven has been half of my soul since I woke up as an angel, and if anything ever happened to him, it would take that half of me and ruin it. I would never be the same. It would kill me no matter what.” 

“He defied our most sacred law.” All of the envy in Shane’s voice is now soft, broken exhaustion, a perfect twin of Ryan’s. “He brought this upon himself. Same as Andrew. Maybe it does hurt, and maybe you don’t want to see anything harm him, but he invited himself to be put on trial the moment he decided that love was more important than honor.” 

Ryan stares into his cold, tired eyes and pleads for Shane to understand, just this once. “Love is more valuable than honor. Love is the reason for everything in this world, good and bad. And the love that they have… they could save the world and Heaven and Hell and everything in between with that kind of love.” 

“Or they could destroy everything.” Shane reaches up and tucks a stray piece of hair behind Ryan’s ear, thumb stroking over his temple. “They could break the world in half and we’d never be able to put it back together again.” 

He tries not to let that simple touch derail him, split him completely at the seams. 

“They deserve the chance to show the good their love could do. They deserve the chance to prove that their love will do nothing but strengthen them.”

“Love is nothing but a liability—especially a love like theirs. Nothing in Hell or Heaven could ever sustain the intensity of the love that Andrew and Steven have for each other. They were willing to turn their backs on all of us to run, to have this, and they’ll do it again if they have to. They’d leave us all to rot, and they’ll do it now if they’re able to slip away.” 

Ryan stares up into Shane’s handsome, toughened face, at a face he’s thought of relentlessly for centuries, and understands the sentiment of his statement with a ferocity he’s spent just as long trying to quell. He knows, very painfully and very intimately, how perilous it is to love someone enough that you would let that love destroy everything around you and leave behind only rot and ruin. He wonders if Shane could say the same. 

“Have you ever loved anyone?” he asks, nearly choking on the words. “Have you ever loved anyone so much that you could barely keep all of it inside of you without it breaking you in half?” 

Shane stares back, his many centuries of practice allowing him to once more conceal his emotions from Ryan’s prying gaze. Ryan, attuned to his every move and change, can still see a sliver of envy sitting at the downturned corners of his mouth. 

“I have never let love turn me into a fool.” 

Ryan wishes, with a wave of bitterness, that he could say the same. “I bet you don’t even know what it’s like to love someone anymore. You would rather increase Andrew’s punishment than beg for it to be lessened. Have you ever loved someone in your entire existence besides yourself?” 

Shane moves so suddenly that Ryan doesn’t even inhale and exhale again before they’re in each other’s faces, before Shane is the only thing that Ryan can see. His face is a vicious twisting of rage and agony, like he’s burning alive and no one else can see or feel it. He takes the hand that previously touched Ryan’s skin like a pleasant breeze and curls it around the back of his neck, pulls him close until their foreheads are pressed together. Ryan finds himself unable to breathe, unable to do anything except keep his eyes open and prepare for Shane to strike him. 

Instead of throwing a punch, Shane speaks, but it feels the same as if he did. 

“You don’t know a thing about me, Ryan Bergara. You don’t know a single fucking thing about how I feel. I feel love like a poison slowly eating away at my heart, like I’m always drowning and my lungs are burning for the air above the water. I don’t let love turn me into a fool, but love doesn’t let me live without trying to ravage me any chance it gets. I feel it all the way down to my old, weathered bones, and I feel it all the way down to my mangled, rotten core.” 

“You talk about love like it’s a sickness.” 

“It is where I come from.” Ryan doesn’t know if he means Hell or if he’s talking about Before, if Shane even remembers Before. “Love is a disease that will eat you alive and leave behind nothing but your hollow corpse and all the bones it broke. I wouldn’t wish that kind of desolation on anyone. Especially not Andrew.”

Ryan’s hand, almost of its own accord, moves to fit itself over Shane’s heart. He can feel the steady beating of it against the pads of his fingers and his palm, and wishes he could reach in and wring out all of the horror that got to it first. Shane makes a low noise, maybe a snarl or maybe a whine, and Ryan says: 

“The love Andrew feels makes him feel like he can be something else besides weathered bones and a rotten core. His love frees him.” 

“His love is going to damn more than whatever happened to him Before, more than whatever caused him to wake up in Hell in the first place.” Shane’s fingers spear up into the back of Ryan’s hair, effectively cradling his head in his large, warm palm. The gesture is so sweet, so tender, that if Ryan wasn’t looking right at him, and wasn't touching him back, he would never have guessed that Shane Madej was capable of such gentleness. “He can still be rescued from it, even if he does have to grovel for a few hundred years. He can be saved from that kind of desolation.” 

The thought of Shane preferring Andrew being redeemed in Hell to him being in love with Steven nearly brings tears to his eyes. The severity of the demons’ starvation of love and affection makes his heart ache like there’s a blade twisted into it. 

“There is going to be no worse desolation to Andrew if he has to spend the rest of eternity without Steven by his side. If they take that love away from him, he’s going to become nothing but an empty shell for his Form to reside in.” 

“If he gave it up willingly, he could let it bleed out and heal on his own terms. But this fool’s errand he’s on, this absurd quest to prove that Heaven and Hell could ever survive together, is going to wreck more than his love for Steven. When they put a stop to it, they’re not going to make him into an empty shell—they’re going to turn him into a beast whose thirst can only be quenched by blood. They won’t stop at his love. They’ll take every part of him and turn it into a black hole.” 

Ryan has no reply to this. He’ll never truly know of Hell’s abilities to erase all of the humanity within a demon and leave nothing but evil and horror in its place. But he can’t help but feel like it’ll happen to Andrew even if he chooses to walk away by himself, that any path that doesn’t keep Steven with him will result in the loss of anything redeemable inside him. 

He doesn’t have the words, but Shane’s ability to read Ryan regardless allows him to hear them loud and clear anyways. 

“He’ll end up like me,” he admits, voice rough with emotion. “He’ll be mangled and cruel and feel love like a pair of claws trying to tear up all of his insides. But at least he’ll still be himself. At least he’ll still have a choice.” 

Ryan shivers. “He’ll be broken beyond repair.” 

“He’ll be wrecked forever. But he won’t be a barren wasteland. He won’t be nothing. He’ll never get to love Steven, but the rest of us can love him and keep him from being ruined like that ever again.” 

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he insists, the hand over Shane’s heart trembling like a bird. 

Shane’s fingers tangle in his hair hard enough to hurt, like he’s holding onto the same buoy that Ryan is. “This is the only way it can be. If they give the rest of us hope, Hell and Heaven will be lost. We’ll all be barren wastelands.” 

And then he’s gone. Just as quickly as Shane pulled him close, he’s sliding away, leaving Ryan dizzy and reeling. The expression on his face is a culmination of their shared aches and pains, and it looks hopelessly wrecked from where he’s back to towering over Ryan. Ryan nearly pulls him back down so that they’ll be face to face again, so that they’ll be on equal footing for once. So that he’ll be able to see the vividity in Shane’s eyes where his Form can’t quite mask or dull it. 

So that he can touch Shane’s old, weathered bones and stare unflinchingly into his mangled, rotten core like he’s been starving to do for a millennium. 

Instead, he gives Shane his own look of their shared aches and pains and does nothing to reel him in again. Shane sees it and his face shutters, like it wounds him greatly to know that he put it on Ryan. Whatever writhing, snarling part of him that came out to go head-to-head with Ryan is gone, and an Andrew Ilnyckyj-inspired desolation has taken its place. 

It’s the last thing he sees before Shane slips back into the hedges and overflowing vegetation, back into someone that Ryan doesn’t know. An expression that can only be worn by someone whose love has given them nothing but devastation, nothing but rot and horror and a yearning so strong it could bring a demon to their knees. 

Ryan stays out in the garden for a long time, unable to stomach the thought of going back inside the parthenon where Shane Madej’s mangled, rotten core calls to him to mend all its splintered pieces. Unable to stomach the thought that his soul and Shane Madej’s might be exactly the same. 

**_~.~.~_ **

If everyone noticed when Ryan stopped fighting back, everyone  _ definitely  _ notices when Shane stops trying to get him to fight back. 

The morning after their conversation in the garden, Ryan slips into the council chamber and takes his seat without a word, just like he has been for the past week. But this time, when he sits down, he doesn’t feel a pair of sharp eyes follow him, doesn’t feel any sort of dark amusement wafting towards him from the other side of the table. Ryan looks up from under his lashes, careful to not make eye contact with anyone other than his target, but Shane doesn’t meet his gaze. He doesn’t do anything, even when Ryan reaches out for his Form, except clench his jaw and stare at the flickering telecast. And as the day continues, Ryan doesn’t feel Shane’s heavy stare even once, and the few times that he chances a look up, Shane is still looking resolutely at the telecast. Most importantly, he doesn’t taunt Ryan, or try to work a snarl out of him; he doesn’t say a single word to anyone until TJ asks him something, and then nothing after that. 

They are both silent as the fucking dead, and it creates a very strained atmosphere at the table. 

“I can’t believe this,” Tania hisses, after her third attempt to bait Shane and Ryan into fighting with each other. Or get Shane to join in harassing him. “First Bergara fucks off, and now you too, Madej? What the Hell is going on here?” 

“Leave it,” Shane grits back, not looking at her. 

Tania does not, in fact, leave it. Instead, she turns to Ryan and pins him with her pissed off sneer. He meets her stare with his usual cool indifference, and she looks ready to burst from how angry she is. 

“You know what, you can play the woe-is-me card however much you’d like on your side of the sandbox, but I’m not going to stand for you bringing  _ my _ guys over to it.” 

Shane tries again, with a short:  _ “Tan!” _ but Tania speaks over him, each word dipped in poison. 

“Everything doesn’t always need to go your fucking way, Bergara. I’d have thought you’d figure that out by now. You already do your best to control the skies and seas—you don’t need to control what’s underneath them as well.” 

Ryan plans on staying silent, as per the new norm, but something about this bizarre accusation makes him laugh. It bursts out of him, contorted and high-pitched, offsetting enough to make the other angels shift in their seats. Tania’s frown deepens so severely that she would be mistaken for a Hellhound if she were in her True Form. 

“You think—” Ryan starts, and then has to stop to let out another bewildered, hysterical laugh. “You think that I have the ability to  _ control him?” _

There’s yet another beat of tense, anxious silence from all ends, even Tania’s, and Ryan suddenly realizes that she’s being serious. That she thinks that he has a genuine influence what Shane thinks, does, or says outside of fucking with him mercilessly. It squashes down the laughter still rising within him, and he scowls back at her just as deeply and fearsomely as she’s scowling at him. Ryan is overwhelmingly done with the demons and  _ their _ woe-is-me bullshit and always being twisted up in it, so done with it that it cracks an irreparable shard of his calm, cool mask out of place. 

“If you honestly think that I have any influence over Shane Madej and what he does here in this council chamber or outside of it, under the skies and seas, you are gravely, comically mistaken.” 

Tania’s scowl has a bright edge to it, and Ryan can see the demons all glancing at each other down the table. They’re all exchanging knowing glances, confirming some unspoken truth they’re aware of, one that Ryan can’t even begin to try to extract from them. He’s so tired of being the punching bag for these motherfuckers that he doesn’t care what the truth is, he just wants them to know his. 

He turns his glower away from Tania and onto Shane, who is finally looking him in the eyes nearly twelve hours after their heart-to-heart in the garden. All of the ache and sorrow and anything telling is gone from Shane’s face, cold anger in its place; Ryan is lucky that the sight of it just makes him angry, too, and doesn’t put him on the verge of tears. He should have known that everything that happened in the garden would be worthless, just another smoke screen for Shane to hide behind. He’s furious he let himself think it could be anything else. 

Ryan makes sure his words remain cold when he says: “No one underneath TJ Marchbank controls Shane Madej but Shane Madej. You don’t think that the first lesson he taught himself when he woke up in Hell was that he was the only one who mattered from that point forward? That no one was going to know him but himself? I bet that even Sara Rubin has never seen the inside of his black heart.” 

Sara spits something to Shane’s right, but Ryan doesn’t look away from him, waiting to see if he’ll argue or fight back. He doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t show any sort of regret, remorse, fury, amusement, nothing—just that cold, fathomless anger. Ryan smiles at him without any warmth, and the only sign that Shane is feeling something deeper is the single frown line that appears on his forehead at the sight of it.

“There’s nothing I could say or do that would ever make him act but how he wants to,” Ryan concludes, looking over at Tania again. “His silence is his own choice. Stop looking to me for answers on why Shane Madej does what he does—my words and I mean nothing to him.” 

Tania looks as though she’s going to push the matter further, but TJ cuts her off before she can try. 

“Okay, enough of the pity parties and pigtail-pulling. Let’s get back to doing our jobs, shall we?” 

Tania spares him one last glare, one that is full of complicated emotions that Shane Madej would never express in a room full of people, and then sits back in her seat. Ryan does the same, and he does not look over at Shane for the rest of the day or the night. 

Even when he gets up from the table when they’re dismissed, he doesn’t spare another second to try and find Shane’s eyes. He can feel them on his back, can feel them trail down to his churning stomach, but he does not have the energy to pretend like anything good will ever come from giving into Shane’s hypnotizing pull. The exhaustion he feels is bone-deep and gruelling, worse still from the exhaustion he felt after the Darragh incident, and there’s only so much of himself left to give to this trial after being spread so thin for the creature trying to put him on trial, too. 

Daysha silently follows him out of the council chamber and up to their sleeping chambers, a pillar of support at Ryan’s side just like always. He’s relieved when they make it all the way up the stairs and to Ryan’s door without anyone trying to stop them, angel or demon, but the relief lessens when he turns to wish Daysha a goodnight and she quietly tells him: 

“We’re talking about this.” 

Ryan wants to argue, wants to act like there’s absolutely nothing wrong besides Steven being gone, but Daysha is the one person he can’t hide from once she knows something is wrong. He meets her eyes, weary and wrung-out, and she meets his, loving and unmoving in her decision. So he lets her in. 

Daysha barely lets him close the door and sit down in the arm chair opposite of hers before she starts demanding answers. 

“Tell me what’s going on with you, and don’t try to play it down or make light of it. I know I’m not supposed to say this, but you look like you’ve been through Hell and back.” 

Ryan scrapes together a small smile for her, one that is genuine even though it is feeble. 

“It’s okay. You’ll probably still think the same after I explain it.” 

Her worried look deepens, becomes fully transparent now that they’re out of sight from the others. Ryan, run-down and throbbing everywhere, feels a deep longing to tell someone else about the mess he’s gotten himself into, and knows that Steven would understand more, but Daysha will love him no matter what, will go through Hell with him if she has to. If he loves Steven like his wings, Ryan loves Daysha like he loves Heaven, like he loves his home. 

He raises a hand and casts a simple but effective silencing ward, and then he releases a deep, full-bodied sigh. 

“You probably won’t, since it happened a while ago, but do you remember when we were taking a break one day and I told you that I would try to keep my hatred for TJ to myself, and you said that I never keep anything to myself? And do you remember when I asked if you’d ever heard the expression ‘I’ll take it to my grave’ and that the afterlife is not the grave?” 

“I remember. I’m guessing this is whatever you didn’t take to your grave?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is what I’ll take to my next grave if I ever get sent to it.” 

Daysha patiently waits for Ryan to say the rest of it, to speak this daunting secret into existence. He’s hardly ever said the words out loud to himself, let alone another angel who might turn around and report him for treason. But he knows Daysha, and if she wants Steven back after everything that’s happened, Ryan knows that she'll do the same for him, too. 

“This trial is running me ragged. I knew it was going to be hard watching Steven be hunted and nearly killed every two seconds, but this… this is what I would wake up to if I ever got sent to Hell. This is what would track me through Purgatory and be used to atone my sins.” He stares down at his hands where they’re weaved together and clenched hard enough to make his knuckles go white. He stares and stares at them, until Daysha carefully reaches over and pries them apart; when she slots their fingers together, so that Ryan is holding onto her instead of himself, he nearly sobs. “I miss him so much that I can barely stand it. I don’t even want to think about what’s going to happen if he survives and comes back home. If they’ll even let him through the door before stripping him of everything he has.” 

“I know,” Daysha whispers, breath catching. It’s been hard for all of them, and Ryan knows they each long desperately for Steven’s safe return, long so deeply and viscerally that it’s left permanent scars on every angel on the jury. “I never imagined pain like this before. And them making us  _ watch it all? _ I’m only able to endure it because I’m so damn old, and I know what happens to the angels who fight against it.”

“I know. I know. I—I don’t even give a shit, Daysha. The lower level angels and demons would ruin everything for us by falling for each other, but those two? They know the score more than anyone on the jury. They could be together without taking everyone else down, I know they could. I wish there was a way they could have a chance before resorting to putting them on trial.” 

“Is that your big secret? The thing that’s messing you up so badly?” Daysha asks him; even when they’re talking about missing Steven, and their shared pain, she can see that there’s more to the story. “That you think Steven and Andrew could make it? That you want to give them the chance to make it?” 

Ryan bows his head, unable to look at her. He feels hot, shameful tears press in the corner of his eyes and feels his Form writhe with terror, like it’s being suffocated inside of him. He would rather let Darragh torture him for a lifetime than say it out loud, but he knows that if he doesn’t, he’s going to spend a lifetime being tortured anyways. 

“No,” he admits, voice trembling. “My big secret is that  _ I _ want the chance to be able to make it.” 

She stills completely, not understanding, or maybe not wanting to understand. Ryan doesn’t look at her, doesn’t move a single inch of his body, paralyzed by an ice-cold fear like there’s a claw positioned at his jugular. Saying it out loud is going to make it real, this fear that he’s been carrying around with him for decades; saying it out loud is going to show him just how unobtainable and unrealistic this type of freedom is. 

“You want the chance to make it? Through Steven’s trial?” 

“Through my own,” he clarifies. “I want a chance to survive my own trial.” 

Daysha is visibly confused when he meets her eyes, but there must be something on his face, or in the tremble of his voice, that makes her understand. She grips his hands tightly, anchoring Ryan and his vessel to this moment, and the look on her face is equal parts love and heartbreak. 

“You’re in love with a demon,” she says, wonderstruck. “You’re in love with  _ Shane Madej.”  _

“I’m in love with Shane Madej,” Ryan says, for the first time in his entire lifespan as an angel. “And this trial has only proven how damned I’m going to be for the rest of my existence because of it.” 

He can see how badly she wants to argue with him, how she longs to give him words of comfort or hope. But Daysha knows that there’s no hope to be found, and she knows that it would only hurt him more to try and plant its seeds than rid of them entirely. She pulls on Ryan’s hands until he’s kneeling in front of her, and then she wraps her arms around him as tight as he can stand it. Ryan clings to her, hands wrapped in her shirt, forehead pressed to her shoulder, tears spilling down his cheeks. 

“I wish he would just come home,” he tells her, for what must be the millionth time. “I wish he would come home so I’ll stop wanting to follow after him.” 

Daysha rests her head against his. “Maybe they’ll surprise us all. Maybe they’ll make Kelsey and TJ see the good that can come from this.” 

“Maybe they will. Maybe they’ll move Heaven and Hell to their will. But Shane will never love me like that. He’ll never love me enough to claw his way through a relentless trial to protect it. The only one of us that would ever be put on trial is me.” 

“How do you know? How could you be so sure without even asking him?” 

“It’s the only thing I know about him without a doubt,” Ryan sobs. “It’s the only part of him he lets me see without hiding it behind something else.” 

She says nothing else, so he tells her what Shane told him. 

“He said that love is a liability and a sickness. That it could only ever end in desolation and rot, and that love between beings like us could break the world in half and never allow it to be put back together again. He said he would rather be cruel and mangled than ever let love turn him into a fool, or turn him into a demon like Andrew Ilnyckyj—a demon who turned his back on everything for an angel.” 

“Ryan,” Daysha murmurs, sounding close to tears herself. __

He goes limp, trying to hide the raw, wretched hole in his heart by pressing his lips to her heart. “I would give up everything for him, and he would leave me to die. Even if Steven and Andrew change our worlds, they’ll never change that. They’ll never change how Shane Madej feels about  _ love.”  _

“He could change his mind if they change our laws.” 

“He won’t.” Ryan knows it like he knows the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. “He’ll never change his mind. Not about this.” 

“I believe you,” she says, soothing a hand over his hair. “But you’re forgetting the fact that you’re worth every trial, every gauntlet, every single barrier that Heaven and Hell will put in your way. I know you forget how incredible you are, and that every angel on this jury would endure the depths of Hell for you. I have a strong suspicion that Shane Madej would do the same if you asked.” 

Even through the scorching pain of missing Steven and knowing that Shane would rather rot than love him back, Ryan feels his love for Daysha swell up inside of him like a tidal wave, almost too magnificent for his chest to contain it. He squeezes her tightly, and says: 

“I love you very, very much. I would do anything in the worlds and whatever lies between them for you. You do more for me than I deserve every single day, and have been for centuries. I would face any trial for you without hesitation, Daysha Edewi.” 

“See?” she tells him, choked. “I know it’s not as easy as just getting over it, but you’re  _ incredible, _ Ryan. If he’s not willing to walk through Holy Fire for you, then do not do the same for him. I’m begging you. You deserve the Heavens and more, and anyone who can’t see that isn’t worth your time, however much of it you may have.” 

He doesn’t know if he can ever forget what it’s like to be in love with Shane Madej, despite not letting himself think about it for years and years. He has carried the weight of it for so long that he’s not sure when he even started carrying it; all he knows is that some piece of that weight, no matter how microscopic, is always going to stay embedded in his skin somewhere, is always going to trail after him like a nameless, faceless phantom. It will always find a way back to him, no matter how long time stretches on, no matter how far he goes to rid himself of it. 

The enormity of it just might follow him to the grave, even after bringing it out into the Light for Daysha Edewi to see it. Even after bringing it out into the Light for himself to see it. 

“I’ll try,” he says to her, low and fragile. “It might take me an eternity to unlearn loving him, but I can try my best. I can try my best to not let him turn my love into a sickness.” 

Daysha’s voice trembles when she replies: “I’m  _ begging you, _ Ryan. Your love is beautiful and otherworldly. Do not give it to someone who would rather watch it burn itself into ash.” 

Ryan doesn’t think it’s possible to repair any of the damage that’s already been done. But, in the circle of Daysha’s loving, protective arms, he can begin to hope for some sort of resolution to this aimless, Athenian tragedy he’s gotten himself into. He can hope for some kind of closure from this open wound he’s been picking at for centuries upon centuries without truly realizing what he’s been doing to himself. 

He kneels in front of Daysha for a long time, crying himself dry and feeling the steady thud of her heartbeat pressing up against his cheek. Part of his wound starts to heal just from knowing this: despite what Shane Madej says, love is powerful and healing, and can bring anyone back from the brink of desolation. And Ryan would choose salvation over rot any day without a second thought.

**_~.~.~_ **

Despite hiding it for so long, Ryan can pinpoint the exact moment he knew that he was in love with Shane. He can pinpoint the exact moment he knew that their paths were irrevocably intertwined, the exact moment he realized he could not tell his own Fate apart from the pieces of it that Shane had touched with his lovely, crooked fingers. 

The first time he met Shane Madej was shortly after waking again in the afterlife as one of God’s celestial intermediaries. He’d just gotten authorization to start taking on solo missions, and this one was just like any of the others: step in to influence a soul towards Heaven before any of the demons got to it. It was during the times where sickness could wipe out half a nation’s population without trying very hard, where a fickle, weak harvest could result in every member of a city starving to death. Ryan was supposed to try and restore faith in the leader of one village whose population was on the brink of collapse, who was strongly considering alternative options to letting his people die. 

He was too late to keep the man from giving everything up for his village, but got there just in time to witness him closing his bargain with one of the tallest demons Ryan had ever seen. The first time he gazed upon Shane Madej, he was sealing one of his wretched deals with a deep, bruising kiss; even when Ryan didn’t know who he was, he knew that the sight of that kiss would follow him for weeks, maybe months, maybe years after. The sight of this demon’s slick, red mouth sliding over another man’s nearly sent him spiralling out of orbit and towards the hot, burning sun. The sight of his long, beautiful hands cupped around this mortal’s gaunt cheeks gutted him in a way that Ryan no longer thought was possible, in a way that he no longer thought he would have to suffer through.

The demon didn’t notice him until the human was walking away, shoulders sure and head held high despite what just occurred. Ryan knew that he should be checking on the other villagers, even though their leader had just sealed his own doomed Fate, but he was entranced by this towering, cocksure creature who looked like he enjoyed the kissing more than the deal. Every instinct that would normally be telling Ryan to fight or flee was silenced by the sudden roar of blood in his ears.

Ryan wasn’t able to move again until the demon turned and caught sight of him, his delighted, hungry expression morphing into something crass. His eyes were completely black and bottomless, like a trench, but also seemed to glisten in the moonlight, likely from whatever power rush came with making a deal. They swallowed Ryan whole as soon as he turned and looked down at him. 

_ “Sorry,” _ the demon had said, equal parts sarcasm and amusement. _ “I’m afraid you’re too late to save this one. You should probably run along to the next village of the damned.”  _

Ryan was still staring openly at the demon and his gleaming, pointed teeth when he managed to reply:  _ “I think I’ll stick around, if it’s all the same to you.”  _

The demon laughed a little at this.  _ “Maybe I will too, then. We can make a game of it.”  _

And then, instantaneous and fueled by glamour, the demon was suddenly towering over him, close enough that he could smell smoke and something dark and sweet clinging to the demon’s clothes and skin. He was so tall that Ryan had to tip his head back to look up at him, and had to repress the urge to shiver when the demon’s eyes fell from his face down to his exposed throat. 

_ “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,”  _ the demon mused, holding a hand between them.  _ “Shane Madej at your service, angel.”  _

Ryan had heard of Shane Madej during his training and learning of Heaven’s general mechanics. He was a Greater demon, and one of the best (or worst), right up there with Andrew Ilnyckyj and Kelsey Darragh. He was over two millennia old, extremely intelligent, and could swindle you out of your soul in ten words or less. Steven told him to stay as far away from Shane Madej as he could for as long as he could, if he knew what was good for him. 

He neglected to mention that Shane Madej, on top of being very old and very clever, was also very, very beautiful, and had a voice like glowing embers on the bottom of a dying fire. A voice that stoked the fire Ryan thought had died within him a few decades ago. 

Remembering why he was supposed to douse that fire in the first place made Ryan take a step back from Shane Madej, made him throw up any defences he had at his disposal. 

_ “I’m honored,”  _ Ryan had said flatly.  _ “I’ll be taking my leave now.” _

When he moved to flee into the village, the Greater demon had reached out and wrapped a surprisingly gentle hand around his wrist, effectively pining him in place. Ryan held his breath so that it wouldn’t leave his mouth in a gasp, or more horridly, a whine. 

_ “What’s the hurry? They’re all safe now, thanks to their leader and his valiant sacrifice.”  _ Shane’s thumb ran itself over the soft, veined skin of Ryan’s wrist, right over the steady thud of his pulse.  _ “You must be brand new, sweetheart—it’s polite to introduce yourself when you meet someone you don’t know, you know.”  _

_ Finally, _ Ryan had thought to himself, a little harried,  _ the flaw that keeps me strong. Condescension.  _

He steeled himself and gave Shane a look that was all hard edges and disdain.  _ “My name is Ryan Bergara. And I  _ will _ be taking my leave now.”  _

Ryan managed to pull himself free from Shane and start towards the village without faltering again. He didn’t look back, even as he felt Shane’s eyes trail after him, and even when the Greater demon called:  _ “I do hope we meet again soon, Mr. Bergara!”  _

That was the first time they met. Ryan was entirely unaware of the catastrophic events that would proceed this Fateful encounter, but they started soon thereafter. Every other job Ryan took, almost, would lead him to Shane Madej and his smooth, bewitching words and the red, bewitching mouth that went with them. He spent many endless centuries verbally sparring with him, trying to convince himself and everyone else around him that he would rather walk on broken glass than speak to Shane ever again. That every second spent in his company made Ryan’s benevolent nature twist and darken into something angels were only allowed to feel towards demons. The  _ only _ way they were allowed to feel about demons. 

And it would take all of these endless centuries for Ryan to figure out how utterly and truly fucked he was when it came to Shane Madej, how he might have hated him like he was supposed to, but he desired more from the demon than a good fist fight. 

As all tragic things do in love and war, the unbecoming realization that he was in love with Shane came on the eve of a trial much like Steven and Andrew’s. It was the first time Ryan had ever been around to witness an angel and a demon fleeing Heaven and Hell to be with each other, and also the first time he had been called to a council of sorts. It was nothing like jurying for Steven and Andrew, but all the same, he had been called to stand witness for the sentencing of the traitorous angel and demon. 

_ “What do we have to judge them on?”  _ Ryan had asked Steven as the two of them walked towards the chamber together.  _ “They’re just going to strip them of their titles and powers and banish them to the mortal realm. Why pretend we can make them change their minds?”  _

_ “As a reminder,” _ Steven responded. At the time, Ryan classified his voice as indifferent, but looking back, there were hints at how he felt about angels and demons being together sitting right underneath the surface where Ryan had never bothered to look.  _ “To make sure we all know the score.”  _

Right before they walked into the council chamber, the very same one being used for Steven and Andrew’s trial, he turned to Steven and asked him, soft enough that only they would ever be able to hear it: 

_ “Would you ever do it?”  _

Steven regarded him coolly, not a hint of emotion on his face, so utterly blank that Ryan couldn’t have guessed his thoughts if his life depended on it. And then Steven had looked away, pressed his palm to the chamber door, and told him: 

_ “Love is a very powerful force. And I love being in Heaven with all of you very much.”  _

Ryan thought he had said no, he would never do something like flee Heaven with a demon right beside him. But then the trial had commenced, and when the angel and demon were sentenced to an eternity on Earth with no powers, just each other as a reminder of what they once had, Ryan had seen fleeting glimpses of anguish on Steven’s blank face. He knew then what Steven really said to him out in the hall: love was powerful enough a force that it might move Steven to wish he could run away from Heaven with whoever he fell for. He might never act on it, but there would always be a part of him that would consider it, that would  _ long  _ for it if he fell hard enough. 

Ryan heard what he said loud and clear, as the angel and demon were shoved through a portal and sent back to the last place they were caught in. He heard it loud and clear, and when he turned and looked up the table, where the portal had vanished into thin air, he knew with a gut-wrenching certainty that he, too, would never be immune to the folly of loving a demon. 

He knew, as soon as the portal closed and Shane met his solemn gaze across the lines of angels and demons at the jury table, that he had already let love for a demon poison him and weaken everything he’d spent centuries fortifying. He knew, just as he knew that there must be someone at this table that Steven would be willing to ruin everything for, that all Shane would have to do is lean down and ask Ryan to run and he would be gone without a second glance back at everyone he would be leaving behind. 

He knew, with a despair Ryan was all too familiar with, that he was unalterably in love with this ancient, cunning creature and the web he’d been tangled up in since the first time they met. That, even when he was a human, he had never felt anything close to what he felt for this demon; that he had never and would never love someone as deeply and dangerously as he loved crooked, lovely Shane Madej. He could (and would) try to forget it all he wanted, try to pretend like it didn’t hunt him like a Hellhound, but from that moment forward, Ryan was irreversibly aware of how much he was willing to give up for a demon who would take his body and leave everything else to die if given the chance. 

Decades later, when Ryan would return to Heaven after a mission and find Steven missing, gone into the night, hand clasped with Andrew Ilnyckyj’s, he would think of the day he realized he would do the same for Shane Madej. He would think about how Shane Madej would never risk anything for Ryan, and then he would pray, for just a brief, frenzied moment, that Andrew Ilnyckyj loved Steven enough to be worth running for, and that he would hold everything inside of Steven’s body even after he held his body, love all of it just the same. Because love is a very powerful force—especially when all souls at the table are willing to do whatever they need to to keep that love safe. To keep that love from rotting and cracking the universe right down the middle. 

**_~.~.~_ **

Ryan feels a shift in the jury about a week after Shane shatters his heart and Daysha tries to help him stitch it back together again. 

Over the course of the trial, he’s suspected more than once that the end goal was not, in fact, to see if Steven and Andrew’s relationship could survive under the vast differences between Heaven and Hell. The thirst for bloodshed and retribution is expected from TJ, but whenever Ryan chances a look at Kelsey, he can see a hungry glint to her eyes, as well. She’s better at hiding it, used to multiple millennia of living behind a shield, but there’s something about this chase for an Archangel and a Greater demon that has peeled back part of her shield and revealed the ferocity lying underneath. 

He’s been aware of it, but unwilling to call them out on it. But now that Steven and Andrew are out of the Midwest and creeping towards the east coast, Ryan can feel their hunger growing. They’ve both spent more time looking at the telecast and amping up their hunting tactics than wrangling the rest of them in. 

The demons take to this change with vigor and spend as much of their time in the council chamber as they can harassing the angels. Ryan still refuses to engage with them, and Shane will still only answer to TJ or to tell one of the other demons to leave him alone if he has enough of it. They decidedly do not look at each other, and instead punish themselves for their careless, damning encounter in the garden by looking only at the telecast. 

When it becomes apparent that neither Ryan or Shane are going to fight back at the taunting, the demons turn their attention onto the other angels at the table, which is almost worse to listen to. 

“All I’m saying is that you should have some consistency here,” Ned says to Curly, who is a rigid line at Jen’s left side. “According to you, everyone who breaks a rule should marinate in Purgatory for a few decades to think about what they did wrong.”

“Fulmer, I’m not starting this argument with you again. Get some new material to work with.” 

Curly and Ned have a rivalry similar to Ryan and Shane’s that rears its head in close quartered situations such as this one; they had a bloody, vicious stand-off back at the turn of the 18th century and never quite got over it. All Ryan really knows is that it had something to do with whether or not a big, corrupt political figure deserved to go right to the chopping block in Hell or if he deserved to stumble around Purgatory for a hundred years first. Ned ended up cheating his way to the top and escorted the politician right to the front gates of Hell like he was a movie star, and Curly was so outraged that Kelsey had forbidden him from going near Hell until the turn of the 19th century. Ned brings it up whenever he’s hard up for material, or he really wants to piss Curly off. Ryan suspects that in this case, after almost six months of being on a jury with the same eighteen people, both are the reasons why he’s bringing it up now.

“I’m not trying to start an argument,” Ned continues, tapping his fingers against the tabletop. He’s trying to appear nonchalant, or possibly bored and amused, but Ryan can see his Form starting to get restless. Every time his fingers touch the marble table, the edges of his vessel pulse and blur. “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of your thinking process. A man steals a few dollars here and there and he deserves to be torn apart by Purgatory for a hundred years, but an angel fucks off to Boston and you think it’s okay if he just comes home, no punishment necessary?” 

“When did I ever say that I think Steven shouldn’t stand trial for what he’s done?”

“You didn’t have to. We can see it on all of your faces whenever the Hounds find them, or the grunts take a shot at his wings. You don’t think that Steven is at any fault here.” 

“I’m not shocked that you’re totally mixed up,” Curly tells him, “or that you think you’re anywhere close to figuring it out. Steven broke a rule, and that’s grounds for a trial. What I don’t care for is playing cat-and-mouse with him across the entire continental United States. We should have just judged them for their crimes to begin with and sent them on their way.” 

“Not this again,” Sara sighs, frustrated. “We already went through this shit with Bergara, and you guys still aren’t getting it. This is not a regular trial. This is a trial for Steven Lim and Andrew Ilnyckyj. They don’t deserve to just have their powers stripped and be sentenced to eternity on Earth.” 

Ned tilts his head towards Sara, as if to say:  _ Exactly my point. _ “They should be the ones going to Purgatory.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan sees Jen push her knee against Curly’s under the table, a subtle sign for him to not rise to the demons’ bait. But Curly’s been collected far longer than Ryan has during this trial, has only expressed true fury whenever TJ orders him to do something, and each of them has been destined to reach their breaking point eventually. This, apparently, is what will bring Curly to his. 

“That piece of shit politician deserves to perish in Purgatory forever,” Curly spits at Ned, hands balling up into tight fists. “He robbed his city of everything they had and blamed the poorest citizens in it for all of their troubles. He—he did  _ unspeakable things, _ and he deserves to be haunted by those choices for an eternity. This is the only thing that Steven and Andrew have ever done that would be considered against code.” 

“They committed treason,” Eugene shoots back. “And the worst kind they possibly could, at that. You don’t think this whole fucking trial has earned them some Purgatory time?” 

Curly says it again: “This is the only thing they’ve done that would be considered out of line. They don’t deserve to be sentenced to Purgatory for one mistake. They didn’t ruin anyone’s lives but their own and they didn’t try to overthrow Heaven or Hell—they just left and didn’t look back. They didn’t  _ hurt _ anyone.” 

The demons’ faces all flicker at this last statement. If Ryan weren’t used to looking at them all day every day, he might call their shared expression rage. But now that he knows most of their tells, he can see the expression for what it truly is: a unifying feeling of misery, of missing Andrew the way all of the angels miss Steven. They’re all cruel and self-absorbed in their own ways, but they’re obviously still capable of experiencing remorse and a deep, gnawing grief. 

“They didn’t hurt anyone?” Adam asks. Ryan expected his words to come out sharp and piercing, like all of Adam’s other words whenever he feels the desire to speak, but instead they come out dull. “The only ones they didn’t hurt were themselves.” 

Annie has the same kind of rivalry with Adam that Curly and Ned do, one that rears its head more sparingly but is no less tumultuous when it does. She sneers at Adam, eyes flashing white, and says: 

“Yeah, and now we’re using that as an excuse to hurt them as much as we possibly can. What a fantastic substitute.” 

Adam sneers back at her. “I would call that a perfect fucking trade. An eye for an eye.” 

Something about this phrase makes Annie tremble with anger, and the only reason she stays in her seat is because Quinta puts a steady hand on her arm. 

“This is why this trial is going to amount to absolutely  _ nothing,” _ Annie tells him, vessel blurring at the edges in perfect unison with Ned’s. “You’d rather hurt them back than just let them face the consequences of their actions and be done with it. You want to watch them bleed out around the knife you put between their ribs. You want to hear every single ragged breath they take until they take their last. I would give anything to keep them from that Fate.” 

“You make us sound cruel for wanting to do in kind what they’ve done to us,” Zach cuts in. “You make it sound like their love is more important than ours.” 

“It wouldn’t be that way if you didn’t make them choose. If you didn’t make them lose something irreplaceable no matter which path they take.” 

“So you’re okay with Steven being in love with a Greater demon?” Eugene’s expression when he inquires this is cutting, like that knife between Steven and Andrew’s ribs, but Ryan can see the vulnerability in it, the choking grief plain and terrible to look at. “You’re not going to make him choose if he’s allowed to come back?” 

Annie’s humorless smile is just as cutting and terrible. “He has already chosen. If he was allowed to come back, I would already know where his heart truly lies. But he would still have my love no matter. He’ll always have my love no matter what.” 

“Some of us cannot be so forgiving.” Adam’s soft, bitter words draw Annie’s attention again. “Some of us are hard to come by for love, and when it’s earned and then thrown away, it can never be earned again.” 

The loathing on Annie’s face deepens. “If you still think that love is something that comes with a contract, that can be given and taken away when it doesn’t benefit you in a certain way, then you don’t deserve love at all. You don’t deserve Andrew Ilnyckyj’s love, and he doesn’t need yours.” 

Adam, for the first time in the many centuries that Ryan has been in his realm of existence, looks like he’s been slapped. In fact, every single demon at the table looks as though Annie just reached into their sternums and yanked their hearts out with her bare hands, leaving them only with the blood and the bone around it. The glamour veneering the council chamber goes tight and brittle, sucks the air right out of the room and leaves them all feeling like they’re going to suffocate. 

And remarkably, TJ and Kelsey remain completely oblivious to this spat going on, to the way that Annie just struck every jury member over the head with a two-by-four and is now watching them claw their way up off of the ground. If Ryan noticed a change in the jury before, it’s absolutely nothing compared to what happened to them just now. A truth, an irrefutable, fatal truth that no one dared to say out loud before: the only ones in this whole situation who may be worthy of love and forgiveness are Steven Lim and Andrew Ilnyckyj. 

Annie releases a deep, shuddering breath, and Ryan’s insides ache when she reaches up to brush a tear from her cheek. Adam’s wide, wounded eyes stare over at her like he’s never seen her before in his life. Like she’s the judge he saw the moment he woke up in Hell and was told why he was sentenced to it for all of eternity. Annie wipes away another tear and stares back at him, fulfilling that role of Adam’s judge in full. 

“I hope when one of your Hounds finally tears his throat out, or you get assigned to torture him for the next century, you remember that Andrew Ilnyckyj loved you enough not to burden you with the weight of his biggest secret. That he loved you enough to take that secret and flee so you wouldn’t have to bear his cross when it all came spilling out.” 

Annie doesn’t say another word after these, but nobody else does, either. They are all sick with the devastating truth of knowing that they have all failed the two people who love them the most; they are sick with the weight of knowing that nothing they say or do can ever unmake this truth, even if they spend the rest of their immortal years begging for forgiveness at Steven and Andrew’s feet. 

Ryan looks away from Annie’s crumpled face to TJ and Kelsey, who are none the wiser to their underlings and the way they are all free-falling right now. He thinks, for the first time, that maybe they were all put onto this jury for a reason other than judging. Maybe they were put here to serve their own time in Purgatory for committing the worst crime there is to make: taking someone’s unconditional love and throwing it back at them like it’s worthless. Taking their love and vilifying it so that they are forced to run and hope it returns to them someday. 

When he turns to the telecast, Steven and Andrew are outwitting a lower level demon and sprinting towards safety, equally matched in pace and tenacity. The sight of them still running after all this time, still chasing after a freedom they have rightfully earned, breaks more than Ryan’s heart. 

_ I’m so sorry, _ he thinks, utterly destroyed. _ I hope I will be worthy of your forgiveness one day. I hope you know that you will never have to ask me for mine. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp there was ch2 15k later dfsafdsaha i hope you all enjoyed it!!!!! if you think this was angsty then,,,, wait for ch3,,,,,,,,, shit is gonna Go Down. also i live in constant fear that i spelled andrew's last name wrong in here somewhere bc my fingers can never type it correctly on the first try so pls let me know if i hecked it up anywhere in here :")
> 
> i also wanted to take a second to say: i feel like i wrote ryan up a little much at some points?? he is definitely not the ONLY angel trying to stand up for steven bc obvi the others don't want him to be hurt or shunned, but they don't understand his pain and anger on the same level since he is in love with a demon and would love to have the opportunity to continue being an immortal angel while also being able to love shane openly. so this is not me trying to be like 'ryan is better than everyone fuck u angels' lol he just has a more similar reason to be so angry and vocal about wanting the trial to be called off and standrew be safe since he is in the exact same boat as them!!!! hope that makes sense!!!!!!! see you next week for more fun times :^)


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey siri play 'howlin' for you' by the black keys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOPS sorry i'm posting this so late at night for my eastern standard timers, i promise i meant to edit this yesterday but that did not fucking happen lmfao so we posting this now!!! i would like to take another moment to say holy fuck yall!!!! the support this fic has gotten so far has been incredible and your comments have made me cry multiple times!! :")))))) you all give me the passion and drive to write, which is my greatest love, and for that i cannot thank you enough ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ i hope that you enjoy ch3 of this fic and that it doesn't hurt you too much hehe 
> 
> that being said (if that conjured ryan bergara's voice into your head, send me your paypal and i will give you $3), **here is my official warning for this chapter:** there is going to be a fight scene that is much more detailed than any other scene of the kind thus far!! it's nothing crazy but does deal with blood and being attacked/cut/bitten by hellhounds and the killing of those hellhounds, so here is your warning!! animal death is my biggest tw tbh but i promise you that this one is not that bad, it's over fairly quickly and the hounds do not suffer for hours and hours. they get punched and then they get sent back to hell. that's it. there will be some build-up before each hound is picked off so you can kinda skim read past those parts if you're not down for it. 
> 
> i'm sorry for this chapter but i'm also not?? so i hope yall enjoy the angst and drama within :^) thanks as always to my buddy zero for being my #1 hype person and to 0sassyspice0 for being rad

The jury never recovers from Annie’s condemning truth after the words spill out of her and into the council chamber. Everyone takes them like an arrow to the gut, feels them like a burning wound that spreads more infection to the rest of their bodies every hour afterwards. Each time they’re called to council, each time they’re forced to sit in a room together with themselves and with their crimes, it’s like being suspended in mid-air before plummeting to the bottom of a pit. None of them speak to each other, and none of them look at each other, afraid of the other crimes they might be convicted of if they do.

Kelsey and TJ similarly never recover after toeing over the line of objective observation into being active participants in a hunt. While the rest of them are silently drowning, wondering if they should be put on trial alongside Steven and Andrew, their bosses get more and more lost in the chase. They start bombarding Steven and Andrew with as many roadblocks as they can manage: Hellhounds, grunt demons, Greaters-in-training, freshly-minted angels, Archangels-in-training—anything they can think of to send out. They take the atmosphere of the trial from tense all the way to the brink of detonation, like a loaded gun about to be fired. 

The angels and the demons are barely scraping by, barely holding onto their fragile semblances of boredom or indifference while Kelsey and TJ are trying their absolute best to tear everyone involved to shreds. Each wretched part of the trial is starting to pile up to an unbearable level, between the angels’ and the demons’ feuds with one another, their shared wrongdoings, all of the truths they are still hiding from the Light, and having to watch Steven and Andrew attempt to be slaughtered in Wasteland, West Virginia. Ryan feels like one wrong move is going to unravel everything they’ve all been trying desperately to keep binded together. 

The night that it all finally comes to a head, Andrew nearly loses his. 

If there’s one thing that Ryan learned and carried into the next life from Before, one thing that he wasn’t gifted with upon waking up as an angel, it’s having unfailingly accurate instincts for when something is about to go very, very wrong. The night that it does, he comes back to the council chamber from their small break and every single hair on his body stands straight up. He feels suddenly and arrestingly queasy, like he might faint onto the floor like a dropped stone. 

Ryan’s gaze is drawn to the table, where some of them are already settled and a few others are just sitting down again; his eyes skip over everyone else and zero in on TJ. He’s not doing anything to suggest that something horrifying is about to occur in the room or on the telecast, his posture, expression, and overall aura the same as it has been. But something about him, something about the writhing of his Form and the gleam in his dark, dark eyes is telling Ryan to turn and flee. 

A hand brushes against his shoulder, gently pulling him back in. 

“Are you okay?” Maycie asks, careful not to draw anyone’s attention. Ryan looks down at her, and can only imagine the severity of the terror contorting his features, if the terror starting to contort hers is anything to go by. “What’s wrong, Ryan?” 

He doesn’t know what to say, if he should say anything at all. The terror might not mean anything at all, could just be a side effect of this mounting strain in the jury and their bosses. But his instincts have never failed him before, and he’s reluctant to believe that they’ll fail him now, despite everything else going on. 

“It’s—” he starts, trying to calm his racing pulse. Maycie’s hold tightens into a small, warm squeeze, letting him know that she’s listening and ready to help any way she can. “I’m not sure, but something’s going on. I can sense it.” 

He presses a fist into his stomach, where it’s churning and clenching painfully. Anyone else would probably scoff at his claim, or gesture pointedly at the trial that is clearly still occurring, but Maycie doesn’t do either. She’s one of the few who have been around Ryan during one of his instinctual kicks, and she knows that he doesn’t mention them lightly or unnecessarily. 

“What should we do?” 

He glances at the table again, at where TJ is staring into the telecast with wide, hungry eyes. “I don’t think there’s anything that can be done right now. I’m not even sure what’s going to happen, I can just feel that something is.” 

“I’ll follow your lead, then. Whatever happens, I have your back, okay?” 

The slightest sliver of relief lessens the overwhelming terror. “Thank you.” 

Maycie gives him a tired but loving smile before dropping her hand. They drift back to the table, careful to not expose their concerns and Ryan’s ominous feeling. If anyone notices their expressions or their hushed conversation, they don’t make it known. Maycie takes her seat at the end of the table, to Annie’s left, and Ryan takes his in between Jen and Daysha, and they do not say a single word about his unsettled reaction to TJ’s ravenous eyes. 

Nothing happens for a couple of hours while Steven and Andrew drive from West Virginia into Virginia. Steven is behind the wheel, hands clenched and mouth set in a thin line. Andrew is lightly dozing in the passenger seat, trying to fall asleep but unable to let himself do so. 

“You should rest,” Steven eventually says, glancing over at him. “You look exhausted.” 

“Easier said than done.” Andrew sighs. He looks back at Steven, eyes soft despite the dark circles under them; when he reaches over and rests a hand in the bend of Steven’s elbow, just so that they’re touching again, a lump forms in Ryan’s throat. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m scared that it’ll be the last time I’ll see you.” 

“Don’t say that. We’ve gotten this far without failing, and we'll go even farther. To the end of the world if we have to.” 

“I know we will.” He studies Steven for a long, long moment without saying anything else. Drinks in his worn, lovely face and the line of his shoulders and the delicate bones on his wrist where they’re peeking out of his shirt sleeves. Looks like it’s the last chance he’ll ever have. “I can’t help being a pessimist, babe.” 

“Good thing I’m an optimist.” Steven shoots him another glance, one that lingers and is full of so much love that it hurts to look directly at. “Good thing that I’d do anything for you.” 

Andrew sags back into his seat, like holding himself up anymore would be impossible. “You too. I’d do anything for you without a second thought. Over and over and over again.” 

As soon Andrew stops speaking, Steven pulls the car over. It’s a long, empty stretch of highway, and there’s no one behind them and no one coming towards them. It’s been just them on miles and miles of road without another soul in sight. The tires kick up a small cloud of dirt when he hits the side of the road, and Andrew gives him a bewildered look. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Steven assures, shoving the center consol up. “I just wanted to kiss you.” 

And he does. He grabs Andrew and reels him in for a deep kiss, right there on the side of the empty, endless road. Andrew stares at his closed eyes for a few heartbeats, enchanted by Steven’s boldness, and then he releases a deep, strangled groan and kisses him back. His hands are shaking a little when he wraps them around Steven’s shoulders and crushes him close, like he’s afraid that he’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on as tight as possible, like he’s already gone. Steven’s thumbs are moving gently over his face, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal, and Andrew presses closer, closer, closer until he’s almost in Steven’s lap. 

“It’s okay,” Steven whispers in between one kiss and the next. “It’s okay, Andrew. We’ll be okay.” 

Andrew half-sobs and kisses him again, one hand pressed to the bare skin of Steven’s throat, right over his pulse point. He kisses him until they’re both left gasping, and then he pushes his bruised mouth right up against Steven’s ear and says, voice ragged and fervent: 

“We have to be okay.” He says it again, shuddering in Steven’s hold. “We have to be okay, we have to make it. If we don’t make it, I’ll never be okay again. I’ll die without you, even if my vessel keeps living.” 

Steven’s eyes flutter open, and he stares unblinkingly through the passenger-side window, up at the sky and where Heaven is staring back. 

“We’re going to make it, or we’re going to sleep once and for all. We deserve reprieve one way or the other.” 

“I won’t let them take me back if I can’t have you. They won’t torture me—they’ll take me out of my vessel and turn me into a demon that can’t ever go back into it. I’ll just be another Hellhound.” 

“And all of my Light will burn out,” Steven adds, understanding exactly what he means. “I’ll be cruel and I’ll never know what love and forgiveness are again.” 

Andrew kisses the hinge of his jaw. “I’ll be worse than TJ Marchbank.” 

Steven closes his eyes again. “I’ll be worse than Kelsey Impicciche.” 

The sick, uneasy feeling in Ryan’s stomach increases at these confessions. His instincts urge him to get out of this room immediately, get anywhere that’s out of sight of Steven and Andrew’s matching looks of desperation. They urge him to call on his Form and obliterate the entire parthenon, until nothing but the cement base remains, taking all of them and the telecast with it. They urge him to lunge at TJ and Kelsey and banish them back to their respective realms, to pry their identical talons out of Steven and Andrew’s backs. 

Instead, he looks up and meets Shane Madej’s eyes across the table. It’s the first time they’ve truly looked at each other since the night in the garden, truly looked at each other more than from out of the corner of their eyes or on passing each other in and out of the council chamber. It might be the only time they look at each other again, during this trial or during the next millennium, so he makes it count. 

_ Please, _ he implores, eyes wide and Form turning them a frantic, blazing white.  _ Please see what we are doing to them. What will happen if we don’t stop this. We can keep them from becoming the emptiest, deadest versions of themselves.  _

Shane looks back, exhausted and resigned to his Fate of losing a loved one. He looks back into Ryan’s pleading face, and then his Form turns his eyes into the black holes forming in his and Andrew Ilnyckyj’s souls. They say in a way that words never could:  _ We cannot stop this. Nothing could stop this.  _

Ryan feels like he’s being suffocated from the intensity of his foreboding fear. At Shane’s dismissal, at his complete lack of faith that anything could save Steven and Andrew from rotting, the instinctual warning of  **_DANGER DANGER DANGER_ ** starts to roll off of him in waves. The angels, who always feel each other’s changing emotions like a physical force bearing down on them, become aware of it first. Ryan can feel their Forms responding in kind to his, all twisting and fighting like battleaxes crashing together. A few of them even turn and look directly at him, uncaring of who sees them do so. Then the demons start to become aware of it, as well, and Ryan can feel their Forms chasing after the fear like dogs after a rabbit. Outwardly, the demons do no more than hiss at the sudden assault of this hair-raising, spine-stiffening wash of peril, but their Forms salivate for it. Shane in particular looks like he’s torn between emulating this horrified fear and sinking his teeth right into Ryan’s torrid, bloody heart. 

Ryan has to take carefully measured breaths to keep from getting out of his seat. He keeps his head down so that it seems like he’s still watching the telecast, but all he sees is white, cold marble and stars dancing at the edge of his vision.

This goes on for nearly fifteen minutes before Daysha takes his hand under the table. He clings to her immediately, unconcerned by how desperate it makes him look, or what TJ or Kelsey might say if they see it. But they’re still completely blind to anything outside of the telecast, didn’t notice at all when Ryan was silently screaming at Shane to listen to him, and certainly don’t notice this slow and steady breakdown he’s having now. 

Daysha lets him cling and shake for another fifteen minutes, and then she turns to him. 

“Ryan, what’s wrong?” 

He turns to her as well. His face must look petrified and calamitous, because Daysha’s changes to reflect the same, just as Maycie’s did, just as Shane’s did. “I don’t know. All I know is that something’s coming.” 

Just like he did with Maycie, he presses a clenched fist to his stomach. Daysha has been around him a few times where his instinct for detecting danger flared up, and she understands at once what’s happening. Her hand tightens around his painfully and he welcomes it, welcomes the sharp sting of her nails against his skin and the way it grounds him. 

He looks at TJ, to see if he’s noticed Ryan’s state and Daysha’s forming trepidation. He remains completely attached to the telecast, eagerly watching as Steven finally reaches a small town where the motel is on the very outskirts, just how he and Andrew like it. TJ’s calm, controlled facade is starting to melt away and reveal his true state: a constant starvation for bloodshed and horror, for the drama that leads to someone’s ruin and to TJ’s bone-deep satisfaction. 

Ryan knows that TJ’s collected, self-controlled mask is slipping and slipping fast. He knows that whatever happens once that mask is wholly off will be catastrophic. TJ is tired of waiting for shit to hit the fan, and he’s tired of waiting for Steven and Andrew to get on their knees and beg for mercy. 

Daysha speaks again, a nearly-silent: “Him?” 

And Ryan nods once, an up-down of his pounding head. He does not take his eyes off of TJ, even when Daysha squeezes his hand again, even when Shane tries to catch his eyes at TJ’s side. Ryan knows it’s coming, like a train barrelling right towards them all, and he wants to be ready for the collision. 

It happens like this: Steven and Andrew arrive at their motel, wiped out from driving all day on no sleep, which will weaken even the strongest angel or demon. 

It happens like this: Andrew convinces Steven to go get some food before they sleep, so that they won’t feel sick when they wake up, or in case they get woken up before sunrise and need to flee. 

It happens like this: Steven and Andrew have a quiet, pleasant meal together in some grubby diner, the booth glamoured so that they can hold hands over the table and no one will see. 

It happens like this: They’re having a calm, peaceful night, and then they leave the diner and everything goes to Hell. 

On either side of the telecast, there’s a comm link for TJ and Kelsey to use to communicate with their secondhands in Heaven and Hell, the ones who do their bidding. As soon as Steven and Andrew are out the door, TJ uses his comm link to reach out to the upper-level demon awaiting his next orders. 

“Send the grunt and the Hounds.” 

That’s all he says, and between one moment and the next, there’s a Level One demon lurking at the back of the parking lot with three chains in his hand. The leashes are rattling together and strained, like he’s barely holding onto them, and Ryan can hear the soft, eerie growl of the Hounds as they wait to run after their targets. 

Andrew spots them first, like he normally does. They’re both exhausted, but Steven did most of the driving that day, leaving him more worn down that usual. Andrew catches sight of the demon as Steven is leading them to the car, and then hears the rattling of the leashes, and every single open, warm part of his body locks up. 

_ “Steven—!”  _ is all he manages to get out before the other demon uses glamour to unhook the leashes from the Hellhounds. The chains fall to the ground, and the Hounds leave streaks of sloppy paw prints behind them as they rocket right towards where Steven and Andrew are standing. 

Steven, too, loses all of his open, warm pieces and immediately turns them into fight-or-flight.  _ “Shit! _ Andrew, let’s go!” 

They take off, away from the car and towards the back of the restaurant. The Hounds are hot on their heels, but even in a state of complete exhaustion, the two of them are able to make incredible ground and put some distance between themselves and the Hounds. They run and run and run through the empty field stretching over the outskirts of town, where nothing has ever been built and nothing will ever be built. It’s obvious that they have no idea where to go, where they can hide from the Hellhounds without being torn to pieces, but they’ve done it before and clearly think that they can do it again. 

“We’ll find somewhere!” Andrew assures him. “This is not ending here!” 

It seems like the frantic kissing in the car resparked that vital fire in him, the one that is going to keep them both alive and on track to freeing themselves of Heaven and Hell. It burns through him like it’s going to seep out and burn the land, too, makes him run like he’ll have to hit a wall before he can force himself to stop. Steven matches him step for step, eyes turning a fierce, beautiful white—his version of that freeing, vital fire. 

The Hellhounds howl menacingly as they follow Steven and Andrew farther into the emptiness of Wasteland, Virginia. The only clear indication of the Hounds’ proximity to them is where they’re trampling the dying grass of the field, and they never get closer to or farther away from the angel and the demon no matter how far they run. Usually the Hounds will take turns putting on extra bursts of speed and trying to pounce on one of their targets, but they never do anything but stay in their tight formation and gallop across the field. 

Ryan realizes that it’s on purpose, that they’re herding instead of hunting, only seconds before Steven and Andrew come spilling out of the field and onto the gravel of a dirt road. They don’t stumble for even a moment and keep on sprinting away from the Hounds, towards a very distant, dark forest lining the edge of this desolate town. Rocks and dust kick up behind them as they go, and Ryan can see glimpses of the Hellhounds when their Forms catch the moonlight and the dust perfectly. They’re all massive: at least eight feet tall and broad-shouldered, with paws the size of tires and long, jagged fangs that ooze drool and blood. Hounds use glamour to remain mostly invisible, and are only truly trackable if they drop their glamour during the heat of a hunt or if they step perfectly into the moonlight. 

The overwhelming, ominous feeling in Ryan’s stomach swells and expands so sharply that even the demons flinch from it, letting out a few curses and growls. He pays them no attention, eyes fastened on where Steven and Andrew are practically flying down this abandoned road towards the unknown, streaks of white and black in the stifling night. They run and run and the Hellhounds run and run, and the terror in Ryan seizes him so tightly that he thinks he really might faint, might start convulsing right there in the council chamber— 

And then everything falls silent. There’s no wind in the tall grass of the fields, there are no insects buzzing, and there is no growling coming from the hungry Hellhounds. It’s like one minute, nothing can be heard but Steven and Andrew’s labored breathing and the guttural panting of the Hounds, and the next, it’s just the sound of their feet slapping against the dirt road. Both of their faces crease with confusion, but they don’t let up their sprinting. 

“What happened?” Steven shouts. “Where’d they go?” 

“I don’t know!” Andrew chances a look over his shoulder, but the moonlight and dust don’t reveal the hulking silhouettes of the Hounds. They’ve seemingly vanished into thin air. “I think they might be gone!” 

Steven turns and searches for their Forms as well, but sees only the deserted road and the flickering light of the town. 

“I don’t understand—” 

The next few steps plant them right in the middle of an intersection of the road they’re on and the road that stretches in the opposite directions on either side. It’s huge, like a baseball diamond, and it stops Andrew in his tracks, makes him wrap an arm around Steven’s waist and stop him, too. 

“Steven,” he says, voice like brittle glass. “Do not move another fucking inch.” 

Steven twists around to stare at him, completely astonished. “Andrew, what in God’s name is wrong with you? We need to keep moving, the Hounds are going to come back—” 

“We  _ can’t,” _ Andrew interrupts, pulling Steven closer to him. “Look at where we are.” 

Steven does, one hand curling into the fabric of Andrew’s t-shirt. He takes a full scan of the part of the road they’re standing on, the very center of where the two roads overlap and then continue on forever in all four directions. It takes him a few beats to look at the roads, and the way they lie, and then he turns back to Andrew, face ashen. 

“We’re in the middle of a crossroad.” 

In the council chamber, Ryan feels himself tip towards unconsciousness. His vision goes black around the edges, and Daysha’s tight grip on his hand is the only thing that keeps him in his seat. TJ and Kelsey don’t notice, fully engrossed in the telecast, but the angels and demons are all shifting and wincing at the tumultuous height that Ryan’s terror has reached. His breathing goes high and thin, and he blurts out an equally high and thin: “Oh my _ God.” _

“They’ve got wards up,” Andrew says, stricken with rage. “I didn’t feel them until we already stepped onto the crossroad. We’re locked in until I can break them down.” 

There’s a small ripple in the air, and then a crossroad demon is standing at the mouth of the road to their left, going west. 

“Good luck with that,” she drawls, lips blood-red and curled in disgust. “We’ve been working the crossroads a lot longer than you have, Andrew Ilnyckyj. I’d love to see you try and break the bonds by your lonesome.” 

Andrew bares his teeth at her, Form pushing at the edge of his vessel. It gets stuck around his ribs and his fingertips, unwilling to push any farther, probably due to the wards. 

“I’ve been around a long time,” Andrew tells her. “It would be in your best interest not to underestimate me.” 

Another ripple goes through the air, and then there’s a demon standing to their right, pointing east. He looks mostly bored by this whole situation, arms crossed and face blank of emotion. 

“And it would be in your best interest not to underestimate  _ us,” _ he advises. “We’ve been watching and tracking you for months. We’re starting to figure out pretty fucking well what’s going to end this.” 

Steven plants himself more firmly onto the dirt road, but doesn’t move from Andrew’s side. “Nothing but death could end this. We’ll fight until we’re killed, and nothing less could ever make us end any of this.”

The demon to the east raises his both eyebrows, like Steven is a complete fool. “That’s the plan, angel.” 

A third shimmer splits the air, and then there’s a demon standing on the road leading north. Where the first two are mostly smug and/or bored, this demon is all hunger. She grins horribly at Steven and Andrew, unnatural and full of sharp, gleaming teeth, and it reminds Ryan so much of TJ that he almost flinches. 

“The plan can be changed a little bit, if you’d like.” She fastens her voracious grin onto Steven, eyes going black like the end of the world. “There’s nothing we can take from Ilnyckyj that we haven’t already planned on taking, but you could always make a deal with us, Stevie. Get you out of this mess and well on your way to where you’ll end up eventually.” 

_ “No!” _ Andrew roars, before Steven can think about replying. “You do what you want to me, but if your mouth gets anywhere near him, I’ll rip it right off of your fucking head.” 

The demon to the north gives him a fake look of hurt. “Aw, don’t be like that, sugar. All I want is one little kiss, and then we can all go home, easy peasy.” 

Steven keeps his eyes locked on her and turns so that his body is completely shielding Andrew’s. “I would rather die a most painful death than ever make a deal with you. You’ll have to take me kicking and screaming.”

There’s one last shimmer in the air, but this one doesn’t come silently—it also comes with the rattling of chains and the chilling sound of deep, Hellish growling. Steven and Andrew turn in perfect unison to the demon standing in the last piece of the crossroad, the road that snakes to the south and back into town. He looks cruel and ravaged, like the type of demon that Andrew will become if they take him back to Hell, and is holding the leashes of the three Hellhounds that were chasing them before. He fixes them with a smile, one that makes Ryan’s gut jerk painfully, and then he rattles the chains in his hands for effect. 

“I’m glad we’re on the same page about that, at least. That you’re going to die a most painful death before we let you go again. We’re going to take you down to Hell with your throats ripped out.” There’s a weighted pause, and then he tilts his head, giving Steven a burning look. “This is your last chance to make a deal, angel. Will it be fire or death?” 

Andrew clenches his jaw, skin paling at the implications of how this fight is going to end whichever way they fight it. But he doesn’t waver, and neither does Steven, who meets the last demon’s eyes without a single shred of doubt. 

“I’ll fight until my very last breath. There’s no deal you could offer me that I would rather take than battle the Hounds. I would rather be ripped apart than locked in a cage again.” 

The demon to the south almost looks impressed by this declaration. He spares them one last leer, and says: “Then the fight ends here. And by the way—TJ Marchbank sends his regards.” 

The chains drop from the Hellhounds with a chilling  _ snick _ and dust immediately kicks up everywhere as they lunge for Steven and Andrew. Andrew flattens himself against Steven, so that they’re back-to-back, and draws his fists up. 

“Aim for the throat!” he yells, and then does so as one of the Hounds barrels into him. 

“I remember!” Steven yells back, exasperated, and then does the same as the other two Hounds barrel into him. 

The fight is chaotic, bloody, and gruesome. Even if the other four demons were partaking in the battle, it would be heavily outweighed by how vicious the Hellhounds are, and by how hard it is to kill them. Steven and Andrew are the best of the best, but they’re only two beings up against three that would require an entire squadron to defeat. 

While Andrew focuses all of his energy on trying to quickly and efficiently get rid of the first Hound, Steven tries his best to wear down the other two. It’s clear that he knows he probably won’t be able to kill one of them and survive to kill the other, but he’s doing his best to at least maim them both and then go in for the final blows. The four crossroad demons stand and watch, each amused, each starving for a chance to witness Steven Lim and Andrew Ilnyckyj’s last moments of freedom. 

They both get torn up pretty quickly. Andrew’s hands and arms start to bleed in ribbons where the Hound’s claws catch him. Steven’s clothes are being yanked on by their teeth, and his legs are snapped at so many times that the holes in his jeans reveal nothing but a wash of blood and shredded skin. The Hounds yowl and whine whenever the two of them manage to club them, but it’s clear that something is going to give eventually, and Ryan has a strong suspicion that it’s not going to be the Hounds or the crossroad demons watching it all go down. 

“This is madness,” he blurts into the council chamber, forgetting himself in the haze of nausea. “What kind of a fight is this?” 

TJ doesn’t look away from the fight occurring, completely entranced. “The kind of fight they should have been having all along.” 

On the telecast, Andrew is giving everything to try and take his Hound out. The exhaustion of too much adrenaline and too little sleep is starting to take its toll on him, and even in the direct path of the moonlight he’s not able to catch a lot of turns that the Hellhound makes. He keeps having to kick up clouds of dirt to catch its position, but it throws him forward in a way that makes it easier for the Hound to snap at him. The Hound lunges and catches him briefly around the calf, and Andrew nearly buckles. 

“Don’t you dare lose your footing!” Steven screams when he feels Andrew start to go down. “We can do this! Aim for the throat!” 

“Thanks, baby!” Andrew replies, a little sarcastic, but also a whole lot grateful. He rights himself, not missing more than a beat, and yells: “C’mon, you  _ fucking mutt, _ is that the best you’ve got?” 

The Hellhound growls and lunges again, jaws going for Andrew’s throat. He manages to catch it with a perfectly-timed uppercut, fist slamming into its chin, and the Hound tumbles away from him with a broken yelp. 

Steven is also starting to feel the effects of his exhaustion. They’ve been doing much more running than fighting during their trial. It’s been eons since Steven has had to participate in a fight this dangerous, and only centuries of skill keeps him upright. His only advantage, besides his acquired fighting technique, is the Holy Light he’s able to emit. It burns the Hounds to be touched by or look at it, but because Steven is so worn out, he’s only able to use it in small bursts. The more he uses it, the more it runs him down, and using too much of it will result in him passing out or stumbling right into the Hellhounds’ claws. He uses it enough to stun them, clearly in the hopes that Andrew will take his hound out quickly and be able to help him with one of his. 

The longer the fight goes on, the more delirious Ryan gets. The imminent doom he was feeling before has completely melted away in the face of that doom playing out. Now, he’s filling up a rage that tries its best to burn the fear right out of him. 

“This is madness,” he says again, planting both palms on the table. “What could you possibly hope to gain from doing this to them?” 

“It’s a test,” Kelsey responds, sounding far away. She is also glued to the telecast, eyes wide and hungrily following Steven’s every move. “It’s a test just like the others.” 

“It’s not a fucking test! This is a colosseum fight! You locked them in there with twenty lions and now you’re sitting back to watch the bloodbath!” 

“You’re right,” TJ says to him, revealing his set of long, pointed teeth. “This is a fight of honor most befitting for a colosseum.” 

Ryan stares at him, all ten fingertips pressing as hard as they can into the table. “This is a game to you, and nothing more.” 

On the telecast, Andrew finally manages to square his shoulders, bend his knees, and throw his punch just the right way. He waits for the Hellhound to stop tottering around from his last hit, waits for it to get roaring mad, and waits for it to strike again. He waits and waits, not moving a single muscle from his tensed stance, watching the Hellhound claw at the dirt road. They stare each other down for what can only be three seconds but feels like three hours, and then the Hound jumps for him, teeth dripping saliva and gruel. 

Andrew calls on his demonic powers, focuses all of it into the bruised ridges of his knuckles, and drives them into the Hellhound’s throat when it pounces on him. He manages to duck so that the Hound’s head lands over his, and delivers a hit to its windpipe hard enough that it would cut the head off of a mundane like a machete. 

The Hellhound releases a pained, gargled cry, legs folding. It lands in a heap at Andrew’s feet, eyes red and fearful, and he doesn’t hesitate to drive his fists into its throat again and again until it stops breathing and stops twitching. Tears spring to his eyes as he does it, and his mouth pulls back into an anguished, trembling scowl when he delivers the killing blow. The Hellhound gives one more cry and then lays silently as its Form starts to break apart and sink back into Hell. 

He turns to help Steven, bloodied knuckles still pulled taut, and is immediately met with the jaws of the second Hound, enraged by the death of its packmate. Andrew hesitates a moment too long and the Hound manages to clamp its teeth around one of his shoulders and bite down, through the skin and muscles and all the way down to his bones. 

The scream Andrew lets out is the worst sound that Ryan has ever heard, makes bile immediately rocket up his throat. Andrew’s knees do buckle this time, and the Hound follows him to the ground, snarling and holding on to his arm. 

Steven pales, nearly misstepping and meeting a similar demise.  _ “Andrew!”  _

“Don’t stop!” Andrew shouts, looking his Hellhound in its nearly-invisible eyes, ready to stare Death down to its killing blow. “I’m fine, Steven! Don’t let that Hound get you!” 

“You’re not fine!” Steven shouts, voice breaking apart like shards of glass. “Fuck, fuck—!” 

He releases another tormented shout as his Hound lunges for him, trying again to bite at his bleeding legs. Steven brings both fists down onto its head like a rock, adding a burst of Holy Light into it. The Hound recoils with a deep, pissed growl, and Steven chases after it, eyes white and furious. 

“You can’t fucking have him,” Steven yells to the Hellhounds, throwing another punch at his. “You’re going to go back without a single soul tonight! You’re going to  _ starve,  _ you bastards!” 

Steven and his Hound start to really go at it, a whirlpool of white and sparse slivers of black when the moonlight catches the Hound just right. Andrew looks like he’s going to pass out, face grey and bloodless, but he manages to use his powers and force of will to unclamp the Hound’s jaws from his shoulder. The Hound jerks away from him, blood pooling out of its muzzle and onto the road. Andrew, panting harshly, reaches a hand up to staunch the worst of the wound, where it's gushing blood and soaking through his t-shirt. Though his face remains determined and angry, his eyes relay their damning truth: if they don’t stop this now, he’s as good as dead. 

“Fuck you,” Andrew says, still looking at his Hound. “If you think going for my dominant arm is going to do you any favors, you’re sorely mistaken, mongrel.” 

The Hellhound snarls and paws at the ground, readying itself for another leap. Andrew prepares by steeling himself, by saying quiet enough that Steven can’t hear but loud enough that it punches a hole in Ryan’s heart: 

“I know I never earned any favors from you, but I know you’re listening somewhere Upstairs, God. I don’t deserve anything from you, but he does. Make sure he stays safe. It’s my only request.” The Hound circles him, trying to find his weak spot, and Andrew breathes out shakily. “I’ll die for him. I’ll let it end right here, as long as you promise to keep him safe. He deserves Heaven more than any angel I’ve met.” 

Ryan’s hands curl into rigid, shaking fists, and his voice sounds shredded when he demands: “Put a stop this!  _ Now!” _

He feels the angels looking at him in surprise, or maybe pity, and it only fuels his rage. Makes him feel like he’s going to go out of his mind with more than building terror and anger. TJ, for his part, doesn’t look away from the telecast, and Kelsey just says again, “It’s part of the test. We have to proceed.” 

Ryan hits the table with his hands hard enough that it cracks the marble, creates a deep, jagged line leading from him to TJ, nearly splits the jury table right in two. If there was room for it to do so, it would have kept going until it split the whole room in two, or the parthenon itself. Instead, the split comes to a messy stop right in front of TJ’s folded hands, and spiders out towards Shane’s stiff body. 

Jen leans towards him and murmurs a very timid: “Ryan.” She means it to be soothing, or to try and quell some of his rage; it just makes the rage burn hotter, makes Ryan feel like he’s going to split right out of his skin like the marble of their cursed jury table. 

“What else could you take from him?” Ryan demands, Form starting to spear out of the cracks in his boiling body. “He just told you that he’d give up everything for Steven, that he’d let it end right then and there. So let it end!” 

“It ends when the test is complete.” Andrew and the Hound are still sizing each other up, so TJ spares a glance at Ryan, expression vile and wolfish. “It ends when we’ve gotten what we need.” 

“You mean his life!” Ryan’s Form almost takes over when he says the words, says the worst of this jury’s damning truths out loud. “You won’t stop until there’s a body to bury!” 

Jen tries again, hand clamping onto his wrist.  _ “Ryan.”  _

_ “They’re going to kill him!”  _ he screams, in a voice that is so wild and frantic that it could never belong to Ryan Bergara in any other situation but this one. 

As it is, the voice does belong to him, and leaves behind a silence that is so stifling and haunted that it draws TJ and Kelsey away from the telecast for the briefest of moments. They stare over at him, and Ryan stares back, his entire face bathed in the blinding white Light of his Form and vessel blurring violently at the edges. 

Kelsey is the first one to fold. It’s not overt, and all she does is blink, like she’s coming out of a daze, but Ryan reaches for that slight reaction like he reached for God in his final moments as a mortal. It clears the bloodlust from her eyes, leaves behind something close to shock, and he almost weeps from relief at the sight of it. 

Then the Hellhound lets out a menacing howl and flies at Andrew, blood slinging in every direction, and the hunger returns. 

Andrew gets his good arm up just in time to knock the Hellhound off balance, but he’s not able to do much more than that. The Hound stumbles, and Andrew aims a solid punch at its jugular, but it takes more out of him that it should. He shuts his eyes for a split second, like he’s trying to clear the stars in them, and the Hound lunges again, again for Andrew’s exposed throat. 

He hears it coming and manages another weak shove. The Hound’s teeth miss his throat, but in turn, its claws catch on his side, right over his ribcage. Andrew jerks forward with another agonized scream as blood immediately begins to pour from that wound onto the ground and the material of his ruined jeans. Steven swears desperately and sends another bright, painful blast of Holy Light into his Hound’s chest, right over the squirming mass of nothing where its heart should be. 

“Hold on!” Steven begs Andrew. “Hold on just a little bit longer!” 

Andrew looks like a small wind would knock him into oblivion. But he still picks his head up and stares down his Hellhound, twin tear tracks cutting through the grime and specks of blood on his cheeks. 

“I’ll do anything for you,” he replies, the words clumsy and broken, though Steven will never hear them. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” 

In the council chamber, Ryan’s vessel splits and makes him grow a few feet, makes his Form spill from his lips and the very center of his sternum. 

“Call them off!” he shouts at TJ and Kelsey, who both ignore him. “God _ dammit, _ you can’t let the trial end like this! They deserve more than an unfair boxing match! Andrew Ilnyckyj deserves more than a cruel, colosseum show death!” 

TJ glances at him again, all points and edges and evil, evil, evil. “They don’t deserve anything but this.” 

The finality of it, the utter lack of remorse, sucks the air from Ryan’s constricting lungs. It seems to take the air from his and fill Daysha’s, because she appears to have had enough. She turns to Kelsey and lets her eyes burn white, lets her voice deepen and demand: “Call them off, Kelsey! This is a test  _ you _ couldn’t complete!” 

Her courage coaxes Kelsey to look up from the telecast, and turns some of that dreamy bloodlust back into shock, whether it be at their insolence or her own cruelty. It makes Niki try her hand at speaking up, and she does so while looking at Kelsey with an uncharacteristic expression of disgust. 

“All that we’ve gone through on this trial, all of this talk about carefully and fairly judging them for their wrongdoings, and you’re going to slaughter them like animals? And let a couple of crossroad demons watch like they’re at the Olympics? This is dishonorable in so many ways, boss. Call those Hounds off and send them back to Hell where they belong.” 

Kelsey stares back at Niki, face turning down and eyes searching. Ryan thinks that they might have gotten through to her, that if she won’t listen to anyone else she’ll certainly listen to Niki, her right-hand for the better part of two millennia. Her face looks hollowed-out, and her eyes divulge the remorse she must be feeling, but it still isn’t enough. When she speaks, her words are carefully neutral, and as damning as bolting the lock on a jail cell door. 

“We can’t stop it now. We have to let the test be fully completed.” She blinks at Niki, and then turns to the telecast, face sealing shut once again. “We have to see how much they can endure.” 

Ryan is frozen in this half-shifted state, helpless to do anything but watch Andrew get his throat ripped out by a Hellhound and effectively end the trial and Steven’s will to live in one fell swoop. One more blow is going to irreparably wreck him, kill him where he kneels in the dirt on a crossroad in Wasteland, Virginia. 

It takes more of his nonexistent strength, but Andrew manages to lift his head up and keep his eyes pinned to the Hound’s prowling body. He manages to lift his head up, keep his eyes on the Hound, and says to it, Steven, the demons, God, Satan, the jury, himself: 

“There’s still some fight in me—you’ll have to come and take it yourself. It’s all for him. It’ll take everything you’ve got to pull it from me, and even after that, I’ll still belong to him. No matter what, you still lose.” 

The Hellhound prepares itself for the killing blow, and Andrew does too, smiling grimly. “I’ve only done two good things in my entire life. The first was loving him. And the second is going to be dying for him.” 

The Hound springs at Andrew, jaws snapping, and he uses the last dredges of strength he has to catch the Hound by the throat and slam it into the road. The Hound yelps, thrashing wildly, and Andrew leans all of his weight onto its windpipe in the hopes that it will crush it. He takes whatever he has left and turns it into glamour, and forcefully snuffs the life out of this Hellhound that has more of Andrew in it now than Andrew does. 

He doesn’t see the claws that move to strike right into his back. The Hound’s claws tear through his skin like a hot knife, and Andrew’s scream goes thin and reedy with the agony he feels from it, makes the cords in his neck bulge out. His hand tightens around the Hound’s neck, and the Hound writhes as it struggles to breathe; the movement digs its claws farther into Andrew’s spine, until he’s being jerked around like a ragdoll whenever the Hound tries to pull away from his clenched fist. 

The sound of Andrew’s scream makes the crossroad demons recoil, cracks their amused expressions into something alarmed and forces them to clutch their ears. The sound of Andrew’s scream seems to rip its own wound into Steven, who takes his eyes off of his Hellhound the second the terrible cry leaves Andrew’s gaping mouth. The sight of the other Hound’s claws buried in Andrew’s body, the sight of all of that blood, splinters through Steven’s fighting stance and destroys him. 

The  _ “No!” _ that wrenches itself from Steven’s throat makes Ryan’s Form crackle in the otherwise silent council chamber, and it forces a broken noise from somewhere deep inside of him. Steven starts to tremble, like his legs are going to give and render him immobile, completely at the Hounds’ mercy. But then his Form starts to tear through the gashes in his skin and muscle, and Ryan suddenly understands that the trembling is not from fear—it’s from an all-consuming, irreversible rage, the kind that makes their vessels unravel and let their True Forms out. 

Steven’s Hound growls and pounces towards him, also mistaking his trembling for fear. Its teeth go for Steven’s neck, and its claws go for his heart, prepared to finish the job and be done with it. But he sees it coming just as much as he sees the life seeping out of Andrew, and he turns to the Hellhound when it’s mid-leap and his Form overtakes every other part of his body. 

Almost in slow motion, Steven’s Form-illuminated fist connects with the Hellhound’s underbelly as the Hellhound’s teeth scrape against his collarbone. Holy Light fills the Hound up like lightning striking, so bright and burning that it turns its entire Form white like Steven’s eyes, and it begins to erode away almost immediately. The Hound howls in pain, trying to escape the Light, but Steven clamps his other hand around its jaw and makes it take the agonizing pain. It’s all over in about five seconds, between the Light flooding the Hound’s Form and the Hound’s form erupting and sliding back down into Hell, but Steven makes those five seconds count for everything that they’ve been through tonight and every night before. 

When his Hound is gone, he’s on the other one in a single breath, Light making the crossroad demons turn from them and making the Hellhound wail. 

“This ends now!” Steven shouts, so enraged that it makes Ryan’s anger look absolutely insignificant. “I’ll never let you take him back to Hell with you!” 

And with that, Steven drives his hands into the last Hellhound’s exposed stomach, pumping whatever Light he can through the bowels of it. The Hellhound thrashes and cries out, but Andrew holds on tight, even though the movement drives its claws further into his muscles and deep, deep down into his bones. The force of Steven’s Light sinks through the body of the Hellhound and expands over the rest of the crossroad, too, everywhere except for Andrew’s body. The Hellhound’s Form strips itself off piece by piece and sinks back into the ground, and the crossroad demons shriek as they’re punted back to Hell along with it. 

As soon as it starts, it stops, and they’re left with only each other. The crossroad is completely empty except for the two of them, like no one else was ever there in the first place. Andrew, without having his hand propped up on a Hellhound’s throat, collapses into the dirt, lands with a dull thud, and does not move again.

Steven’s Light snakes back into his body, and his Form retracts behind his vessel. The end of the power surge makes his eyes roll into the back of his head, and he also collapses. He ends up sprawled out on top of Andrew, protective even in a state of unconsciousness. 

All that’s left behind by this encounter is a numb, choked silence. The light breeze in the field returns, but the only other noise that remains after the fight is the shallow breathing that Steven and Andrew emit from their bloody, ruined heap. In the council chamber, no one even thinks about speaking again; they’re all staring at the telecast in complete shock, whether it be from Andrew willing to die for Steven or Steven taking that chance away from the Hellhounds with every single piece of his Form that he had left to give. 

Ryan sits and stares at Steven’s rising back, begging and begging for him to get up and move. They might not have long before TJ decides to send something else after them, or before the Hounds decide to claw their way up from Hell again for a second round. They’re exposed and bleeding and Ryan needs them to be somewhere with four walls and roof again before he goes into cardiac arrest. 

It takes a few agonizing, heart-stopping minutes, but then Steven releases a hoarse moan and shifts on top of Andrew. He pushes up onto trembling arms and looks down at him, worry taking over the pain almost immediately. 

“Andrew,” Steven gasps, scrambling to his knees. He sways, like he’s going to tip right back over, but the desperation to make sure Andrew is safe keeps him steady. “Andrew!” 

Steven eyes the smear of blood coming from his back and curses, hurrying to get his hands under Andrew’s body to flip him over. Andrew doesn’t react when moved, so Steven shoves one hand up against the pulse point on his blood-speckled neck, and uses the other one to cup his pale face. 

“Hey, I know you’re still with me,” Steven starts again, leaning down until he’s hunched over Andrew’s body. “Please,  _ please _ wake up, just for a  _ second—” _

He glances down at the wound in Andrew’s shoulder, and then at the one across his side; both are disastrous scenes of torn flesh, flashes of bone, and trickling blood that refuses to be staunched. He swallows, throat clicking dryly, and tears his eyes away from the wounds. 

“Andrew.” Steven says it more firmly this time, and gives Andrew a jostle. He, of course, does and says nothing, so Steven prepares himself to do both. “I’m sorry. I won’t ever do this to you again.” 

Ryan thinks he means putting them into a situation where Hellhounds will be involved, but then he sees Steven’s fingers start to glow with the Light of his Form once more. It nearly bowls him over, stealing almost all of the scarce energy he’s gotten back, but he draws on it enough to send a bolt of Light through Andrew’s body. 

Ryan knows the effect of it will be like a million needles piercing him all at once. He also knows that it will probably hurt Steven more than it will ever hurt Andrew. 

But it does the job. Steven sends that flash of pure Light through Andrew and he wakes with an aborted scream, vocal cords straining again, eyes unseeing and nothing but pupil. Steven is right there to pull him back down, hovering over Andrew and caressing his dirty, sweaty cheek. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Steven babbles, obviously trying not to cry. “They’re gone, babe, they’re all gone. We got rid of them.” 

Andrew focuses on him and not whatever memory of the Hound’s jaws he went to sleep with. The fight leaves him and then leaves him limp on the dirt again, breaths heaving out of his maimed chest. 

“Fuck,” Andrew chokes, hand curling weakly into the hem of Steven’s shirt. “Oh fuck, I really thought it killed me.” 

For the second time that day, he releases a dry, wretched sob. A few tears trickle out of the sides of his eyes and into his hair, and Steven is right there to wipe them away. 

“You did so well, kicked major ass and saved ours at the same time. I’m _so_ _proud of you.”_

Andrew shakes his head. “Didn’t do shit. It was all you, sweetheart, all I could do was kneel there and fucking take it. You saved us both.” 

Steven moves the hand on Andrew’s neck and uses it to grasp his chin, so that Andrew has nowhere to run to but Steven’s loving, mighty gaze. “You saved my life tonight, Andrew Ilnyckyj. Saying you didn’t is nothing short of blasphemy.” 

That works a laugh out of Andrew, one that is mangled but a laugh nonetheless. “Blasphemy is my business, angel.” 

“And you finished it,” Steven tells him, running a thumb over his lips. “There’s no one else I would rather have fighting by my side than you. No matter the fight, no matter the outcome. Do you understand me?” 

Andrew looks up at him like he’s seeing Heaven for the first time, like he still can’t believe that a creature this good and beautiful exists and wants to make him good and beautiful, too. It forces a couple more tears out, but also makes him smile. 

“Come here,” he whispers, pulling on Steven’s shirt. “You’re too far away.” 

“I’m right by your side. I’m not going anywhere else.” 

They share a bloody, ferocious kiss, right in the middle of the crossroad that almost took their lives, and cling to each other. Andrew manages to move his other arm so that he can loosely hold onto Steven’s elbow, and Steven twists both scraped hands into Andrew’s hair, holding on to him this side of too-tight. When that kiss ends, Steven presses another to Andrew’s bruised, cracked lips, presses him all the way back into the dirt road like he’d press them both into the ground if he could, under the grass and the soil and down to the center of the world. 

When Steven finally leans back and looks at him, Andrew is wheezing a little. 

“We need to get you back to the hotel and cleaned up. Can you stand?” 

“After a kiss like that?” Andrew teases, but shifts his limbs to gauge their soreness. “Yeah, we need to get the fuck out of here. Let’s go.” 

It takes a long time for them to get Andrew to his feet without ripping the rest of his muscles in half, but they make it happen eventually. Luckily, Andrew’s minor cuts and bruises are already starting to heal themselves, and the gashes on his back are beginning to close up, but his ribs and his shoulder still ooze blood whenever he moves either of them. When he’s standing on both feet he pitches forward dangerously, but Steven’s right there to catch him, to make sure he doesn’t go down again. He wraps both arms around Andrew’s lacerated torso and holds on tight, lets Andrew lean against him as much as he needs to. 

“Take your time,” Steven whispers, sliding a hand across Andrew’s quivering back. “We don’t move until you’re ready, okay? We’ll be back to the motel soon enough.” 

Andrew presses their foreheads together, taking measured inhales to regain his composure. His entire body looks like it might shut down at any given moment, but his voice is steady and whole when he says: “I love you, Steven,” in between them. 

Steven closes his eyes for just a second, just long enough to let the words wash over him like a balm. “I love you so much. I can barely stand how much I love you. I would crush the skulls of every Hound in Hell for you over and over again if I had to.” 

“Let’s hope not. Three was enough.” 

“Two. You took down one of those fuckers, tough guy.” 

“Two.” Andrew amends, kissing his cheek. 

When Andrew thinks he can handle it, they start their trek back to the motel. The council chamber remains frozen and silent throughout the entire journey, unwilling to back down until Steven and Andrew are out of the back roads of Wasteland, Virginia and in their temporary shelter again. Steven is able to use his wings here and there as his energy starts to replenish, but he never teleports them far, just a few dozen feet at a time to shorten the trip. Ryan knows he’s afraid of fainting again, and leaving Andrew for the Hounds while he’s floating away. Andrew grunts and swears throughout the trip, but he pushes on and keeps up with Steven, knowing that he’ll be able to rest when they get back to the motel. 

It’s nearly a half an hour before they’re able to reach the car again, where it’s still parked in the diner’s front lot; the diner is located on Main Street, and all of the buildings are still lit up and spilling patrons, who are completely unaware of the events that just took place. Steven uses glamour to mask both of them, so that the mortals’ eyes skip right over them on their way in and out of the restaurant. He helps Andrew into the car, who nearly cries again at the feeling of sitting down, and then gets into the driver’s seat and peels out. 

“We’re almost there,” Steven assures Andrew, who is pale and sweaty again, shoulder dribbling weak lines of blood. He pushes a hand through Andrew’s hair soothingly, and Andrew leans into it. “Just give me ten more minutes and then you can rest.” 

Steven makes it back to the motel in seven, using glamour and luck to push the speed limit around the small town. Andrew’s got his forehead pressed to the window when they pull up to their room, and he looks translucent in the harsh light of the red  **_VACANCIES_ ** sign. Steven flits to his side of the car with one last burst of energy and opens the door, hands reaching for Andrew’s torso again. 

“C’mon, let’s get inside.” 

Andrew rouses himself and gets his feet working, grabbing onto the door to heave himself upright. Steven helps him so that he doesn’t crumple, and closes the car door when Andrew’s completely out of it. 

The first thing that Steven does once they’re inside their motel room is sit Andrew down on the end of the bed. 

“I’ll get blood all over it,” Andrew protests. “Maybe even some guts.” 

“I’ll fix it tomorrow.” Steven goes about setting up their various sigils and wards to keep others out of the room, trying to hurry without messing them up. “And if I can’t fix it, we’ll take it and burn it.” 

When the wards are in place, he goes to their pile of luggage and starts digging through it. Without turning around, he says: “Take your shirt off.” 

Andrew laughs, the sound raspy and out of place for the situation. “Usually you say that to me with a much better tone of voice.” 

Steven tsks, but there’s a small, tired smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Take off your shirt  _ please.”  _

“Actually, you usually don’t use words at all and just take it off yourself. A much better technique all around, in my own personal opinion.” 

“How about we fix you up, and then I’ll get you out of your jeans all by myself. Will that suffice?” 

“Music to my ears, baby.” 

Steven finally finds what he was searching for—their used and abused first aid kit—and stands up again, saying: “I shouldn’t be surprised that even on the brink of death, all you can think about is getting  _ me _ on my kn—” 

The words shatter like ceramic when he turns back around. Andrew is right where he left him, and without a shirt on as requested, but Steven’s expression is nowhere near heated when he gets a look at Andrew’s bare skin. It’s heartbroken, like he just had his inside ripped out by a Hellhound’s claws, and so angry that it could put out the fires in Hell and then reignite them all in one go. 

He takes three large steps to get to Andrew, all traces of humor gone from his face and tongue. He puts the hand not holding the first aid kit under Andrew’s bitten shoulder, soft and sweet despite the fury roiling in his vessel. It’s finally done bleeding, and there’s no bone showing anymore, but the bite is still deep and horrendous. 

“Look what they did to you,” Steven hisses, like Andrew is unaware of what happened. “Could’ve torn your whole arm off. They’re lucky I don’t fly down to Hell and kill all of them right this fucking second.” 

“Steven, it’s okay,” Andrew says, his turn to comfort Steven for his wounds. “It’s already starting to close up—see? I’m going to be fine.” 

Steven closes his eyes for a long second, and then presses a fierce kiss to Andrew’s forehead. He leaves his lips there when he tells him: “If you hadn’t been fine, I would have ruined the whole planet when I woke up again. And I would have taken Heaven and Hell down with me.” 

He gets to work on cleaning Andrew’s wounds out, while Andrew stares at him with no small amount of reverence. Steven is blind to it, too focused on wiping away the blood and wrapping his shoulder up nice and tight to notice the way Andrew is looking at him like Steven is the one who crafted Heaven and Hell with his bare hands. Even when he’s done with Andrew’s shoulder and kisses him again before moving to his ribcage, he doesn’t see the way that Andrew stares at him like he put the stars and the moon in the sky, and then the sun right after them. Like he’s the reason that angels have halos and demons long for the Light that poisons them. 

Steven is extra careful with his side as he cleans it, thumb running over the unmarred bones of his ribs. Andrew melts into the bed and gazes down on him with so much love in his eyes that Ryan has to look away, too fragile and broken open from the crossroad for such a Holy sight. He listens to the rustle of swabs and gauze, and cannot find it within himself to look anywhere but at the trench he created in the marble jury table. 

Eventually, Steven deems the wound to be sufficiently taken care of, and he wraps a long bandage around Andrew’s torso to protect it. When the bandage is secured, he looks up and starts to say something about the wound being as good as it’s going to get, but the words catch in his throat when he finally takes in Andrew’s facial expression. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Like what?” 

He moves his hands until they’re resting once more on either side of Andrew’s hips. “I don’t know. Like… like  _ that.  _ Like I’m the best thing you’ve  _ ever _ looked at.” 

“That’s how I always look at you.” 

“It’s not!”

“It is,” Andrew insists, in a tone that brooks no argument. “You’re always the best thing I’ve ever looked at. I’ll never find anything more beautiful and wonderful than you.” 

Steven stares at him in awe, like he still can’t believe that Andrew feels that way about him, despite this trial and everything leading up to it. And then his face crumples, and he shoves it into the bare, bruised skin of Andrew’s abdomen, a strangled cry ripping a hole in the room. 

“Hey,” Andrew murmurs, eyebrows furrowing. He puts both hands on Steven’s head, fingers sliding into the wild strands of his dark hair. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay, Steven, I promise. I didn’t mean to make you upset.” 

Steven’s shoulders heave and an excruciating noise follows them as he begins to sob in earnest. The noise that he makes is so terrible and horrifying that it rivals the scream Andrew released when the Hellhound dug its claws into his back. It seems to Andrew deeper than the Hound’s claws, visibly tears him to pieces and makes him want to do whatever it takes to stop the horrible noise from leaving Steven’s mouth ever again.

It makes vomit crawl back up Ryan’s sore throat. In all of the centuries that they’ve known each other, in all of the decades they’ve spent building and then shedding their indifferent exteriors and exposing the rawness underneath, Ryan has never seen Steven cry like this. He shed a few tears after that fateful day where the angel and demon were stripped of their glamour and Ryan was too busy realizing that he was in love with Shane Madej to pay closer attention. He cried steadily the night they had a bad run-in with a loose pack of Hellhounds and Jen almost died, hunched over her bedside and gripping her hand tightly, like he was going to float away without her to hold him down. But this full-body sobbing, these cries that sound closer to screams than anything, are something that Ryan never thought Steven was capable of making. Are something that Ryan never thought  _ anyone _ was capable of making. 

Steven is the strongest angel Ryan knows, the angel that could survive anything short of the entire universe collapsing in on itself. The angel most loyal to goodness and love even when Heaven tries to force him to act otherwise. Seeing him so destroyed,  _ so completely shattered, _ and knowing that he had a hand in it, leaves Ryan emptied out inside and leaves him certain with the knowledge that he belongs in Hell with everyone else at the table. 

Andrew looks like he would give anything in the world to make it stop; instead, he holds Steven and lets him let it out. Lets him sob until he’s gasping for air, until he stops holding onto Andrew’s bloodied skin with white-knuckled fists, until the tears stop coming and he’s just trembling and taking deep, ragged breaths. 

Afterwards, Steven whispers a very hoarse: “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Andrew whispers back, still stroking Steven’s hair. “Baby, if it was you who went down like that, I would have blown that town to pieces. It’s okay that you were scared and overwhelmed. That was… a lot to handle after everything else we’ve gone through.” 

“No—” Steven finally pulls away from Andrew’s stomach to look him in the eyes, cheeks puffy and red from his tears. “I’m not sorry for crying. I’m sorry that I almost got you killed.” 

Andrew stills. “What are you talking about?” 

They stare at each other for a long, pained moment, Steven looking miserable and Andrew looking extremely confused. When it becomes apparent that Andrew is genuinely not understanding what he’s talking about, Steven explains: 

“I should have done better to protect you during that fight. I know my Light hurts them more than your powers do, and I should have used it like I did right at the end before they had time to hurt you. I could have gotten you killed.” 

Andrew’s face goes from confused to devastated in a second.  _ “Steven.”  _

“I mean it!” Steven says fiercely. “I shouldn’t have taken the time to fuck with them. I should have laid them all out first thing—if I would have done that right away, you wouldn’t be shredded like the Hounds’ fucking chew toy.” 

“You would have killed yourself.” Andrew leans down so that they’re almost nose-to-nose, so that Steven can’t pull back from the severity in his tone. “You nearly did, even at the end. If you tried to pull that stunt before it was absolutely necessary, you would have fed yourself to them.” 

“I would have gotten rid of them.” 

“You would have  _ died!  _ They would have gotten you one way or another! You didn’t do anything but what you could, and you saved both of us. I don’t want to hear another thing about you thinking you almost got me killed.” 

Steven makes a frustrated sound and jerks his head away, so that he’s staring at their front door and Andrew is staring at his profile. Ryan can see that he’s not angry at Andrew, is just angry with himself and how the night turned out, and he can also see how clearly Andrew sees this, too. Can see it in the soft, loving way he looks at Steven, can see it in the soft, loving way that Andrew reaches up and brushes his fingers through Steven’s hair again. Steven shuts his eyes, mouth working around another loud, broken sob, still trying to punish himself when it’s obvious that all he wants to do is crawl into Andrew’s arms and never leave them again. 

Andrew lets him have a moment, always knowing exactly what Steven needs, and then he cups the side of Steven’s face that he can’t see with his other hand. When Andrew gently turns his head, Steven goes without a fight, looks up at him with more heartache and more love than one person should be able to hold in their body. 

“You saved both of our lives tonight,” Andrew tells him, running his thumb under the tender skin of Steven’s eye, “and you did it exactly when you would be able to handle it. Exactly when we needed it most. I’m not upset that you didn’t do it earlier, and I don’t blame you for my injuries. We’ve been running on empty for weeks, Steven, there’s no way we were getting out of that fucking crossroad arena without someone getting hurt. I’m glad it was me and not you.” 

“Don’t say that. I can’t stand it when you say shit like that.” 

“It’s the truth. And I know how much you hate to hear me say it. Just like it’s true that you think you should have done more tonight, and it’s true that you think you deserve the beating I took for ‘failing me’ or whatever the Hell your head is telling you. You know how much I can’t stand it when  _ you _ say shit like that.” 

He has nothing to come back with, because he knows that Andrew is right, that they’re each other’s Achilles heel. He knows that they would do anything for each other, that they would go to any lengths possible to keep each other safe. That they have already gone to extreme lengths and will have to go even more as long as they’re on the run. 

Steven says nothing, just stares up at Andrew like he could never think of words to encompass how much he loves him. Andrew’s breath catches at the sight of it, and he leans down even further, until their foreheads are touching. 

“I mean it with my entire being that I’m glad I’m the one who got hurt instead of you,” he reiterates, not trying to argue, just trying to make Steven understand. “There is nothing I want more in this world than to keep you safe for the rest of our existence together. I will kill anyone who tries to hurt you, and I will die for you without question if it means you’ll remain unharmed.” 

Steven lets out another light sob. Andrew carefully wipes his tears away and tells him: 

“I spent my time Before in the dark, and almost all my time After in the same place. I’ve been around for over two thousand years and the only time in those many centuries that I ever felt anything close to peace was when I met you. Even when you hated me, I longed for your Light, and I was willing to do whatever it took to be able to feel it, to look upon it and not be afraid that I’d burn to death. I was and am willing to do whatever it takes to be worthy of your Light.” 

He inhales sharply, a few tears spilling down his cheeks as well. Steven takes one hand off of his hips to dry them, and Andrew kisses his palm. 

“I was so wretched and mangled for hundreds and hundreds of years, and I always knew that I never wanted to be like that, even when I was a mortal, but I never knew how to stop. And then I met you, and it was like waking up from a nightmare for the first time in a millennium. I suddenly knew what hope felt like, and I learned what it meant to love someone more than your own misery.” Andrew makes sure that Steven hears every single word when he says, voice pious: “You pulled my heart out of my tomb and put it back where it belongs, where it’s been clawing at my bones and the dirt to get back to. It beats for you, and it belongs to you wholly, and there is nothing in any of the realms that I take more seriously than protecting my heart and whoever holds it. I know it scares you to hear the extent to which I would go to keep you out of harm’s way, but I need you to know why. I need you to understand that you took nearly all of the cruelty out of my core and put love there instead, and I never thought I would get to feel love again.” 

Steven is crying freely, but he’s also smiling, beaming so hard that it must ache. He puts his other hand on Andrew’s cheek and touches him with the same piousness that Andrew speaks to him with, touches him with kindness and love, with the two things that every being in this trial would go through Hell and back to find. Andrew sighs brokenly and leans into his hold, lets Steven gaze onto all of his wretched, mangled edges, lets Steven gaze openly onto all of the love that managed to blossom in the dark, empty pit of his soul. 

“I hope you know that my heart belongs to you, too,” Steven tells him. “I hope you know that I never understood what it was like to stand witness to something sacred or Holy until I saw a Light coming from you that you made yourself.” 

Andrew says his name again, like a prayer, like it’s the last thread of Light left on Earth:  _ “Steven.”  _ and Steven leans up to press a deep, messy kiss to his mouth. Andrew makes a noise that cuts as deep as the noise Steven made when he was sobbing earlier, but this one cuts and leaves behind a path to salvation. They hold each other tightly and the Light that fills them both is something that Heaven and Hell will never be able to take away from them, no matter how hard they try or what they send to destroy it. They’ve kissed so many times to seal their deal of  _ I will go to the ends of the Earth with you.  _ Tonight, they kiss to seal their deal of  _ I will live and die for you no matter the cost, no matter who or what we are up against.  _

Their promise to each other, their declaration of salvation and unconditional love, leaves a ringing silence behind in the council chamber that fills everyone’s ears and their turning stomachs. Every angel and demon is unable to do anything except watch Steven and Andrew cling to each other and breathe easy admissions of love into each other’s lungs. 

The sound that Ryan’s chair emits when he suddenly shoves it back is ear-splitting and raucous, like two swords screeching together. It makes everyone at the table flinch away from him, even TJ and Kelsey. He stumbles to his feet, feeling dizzy and untethered from everyone and everything in the room. He feels like he’s going to detonate like a grenade if he has to listen to Steven and Andrew sacrifice themselves for each other for another fucking second. 

TJ reacts first. “Bergara, what the fuck are you doing? Sit down, we’re not finished here.” 

Ryan shoves the heel of both hands into his eyes, taking rapid, unsteady breaths. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—” 

“Sit the fuck down,” TJ snaps again, adding a vicious edge to the words. “You’re not done until I say we’re done.” 

He can feel his Form shoving at the seams of his vessel again, rattling the lid of this well that TJ and Kelsey have been trying to cement him into for six months. Fury rises within him like a tsunami, like the grenade in his chest just went off and sent a wall of water to the surface of that cemented well. It’s a type of fury that he’s never felt before in all of his years, a fury so consuming and tumultuous that nothing is going to keep it from coming out, not even if TJ crammed a knife into his chest or vaporized his entire vessel. The fury would still spill out of his wound, out of the cells of his melting skin and strike a fire against them like flint. 

It’s a type of fury that’s going to leave a mark one way or another. 

“I’m done,” Ryan gasps, still reeling and trying to hold himself together. “I can’t sit here and watch you kill them. I refuse.” 

A dark fist closes around his entire body and tries to forcefully drag him into his chair. He knows that it belongs to TJ, can tell just by the sheer intensity of the power, of the learned strength behind it. Only someone as old as TJ could ever grab a hold of someone as old as Ryan and throw him around. It works for a half a moment, just enough to make Ryan bend at the waist, and then the fury erupts inside of him and devours everything in its path. 

Their connection severs and Ryan is left standing with his hands at his sides and his white, white eyes locked onto TJ’s enraged face. His vessel thrums with this blistering, destructive fury and makes his Form shine from every crevice it can slip through, so that the council chamber fills with it. The demons shrink away, unable to stand the sight of it; the only two demons who keep looking are TJ and his loyal right-hand man, and the weight of their hard stares pushes his fury higher still. 

“I won’t sit and watch it for another fucking second!” Ryan shouts. At the other end of the table, between Annie and Zach, a third trench forms in the otherwise perfect marble. “I’m done being an audience member in their colosseum! I would rather be in there with them than remain a silent bystander! I’d rather fight than be the lion that rips them apart!” 

“The trial isn’t complete!” TJ is trying to regain control over Ryan, his glamour nudging at the protective barrier that his Form has created, but he keeps drawing back as if burned. “You’re not allowed to leave this room until the night is over, and you’re not allowed to be done with the trial until I say that it’s over.” 

“I’m not serving on this jury for another moment,” Ryan tells him, the finality in the words a palpable promise. “You can send me to run alongside them if you’d like, or you can just go ahead and kill me right now. I’ll accept either option. But I’m not silently sitting and watching you try to end their lives anymore. You get another target or you get a corpse. I won’t be your pawn.” 

TJ seems to understand that in his state, Ryan is too powerful for him to touch, even as the oldest person at the table. He gives Ryan a look that is pure loathing, pure disgust, and Ryan makes sure to give just as good as he’s getting, gives better because his anger and hatred has burned brighter for far longer. 

“You got some fucking nerve,” TJ spits, voice threatening.  _ “Some fucking nerve _ talking to me like that. Acting like you’re better than everyone on this jury.” 

Another trench forms right in the middle of the table, between Jen and Adam. He can feel Kelsey’s powerful Form probing at him, trying to overpower Ryan and get him to calm down. Hers gets flung aside just the same as TJ’s, forces a small noise from her throat, one that almost unravels the last of Ryan’s control. 

“I don’t think I’m better than anyone on this jury except for you two,” he says, looking at TJ, and then at Kelsey, who can only look back with that disgusting look of neutrality still on her face. “I’ve seen humanity and compassion from every other person at this table, especially this past week. I’ve seen something that reminds me that they still have a conscience, a heart that understands love and forgiveness. You both have black holes for hearts, and you are both unworthy of the loyalty that you force us to give you.” 

For the second time that night, the air gets sucked from the room and leaves everyone wide-eyed and drowning. There are not a single pair of eyes not pinned to Ryan, even though his Form is still trying to split him at the seams. For the first time in decades, Ryan is able to feel Kelsey Impicciche’s emotions, is able to surpass the block she always puts on them; after he says these words, he feels her shock like a hot bath after battle, and he feels her hurt like a gunshot wound. TJ remains outraged, but when Ryan presses into him, he can feel the residual traces of exhaustion somewhere deep within this Greater demon. Can feel something human and raw underneath this barren wasteland of a creature. 

He presses on now that he has their attention, and they know he will not bow to their forces. “This trial was supposed to be about seeing how well Steven and Andrew’s love could survive under pressure. It was supposed to be about seeing if they could exist together without undoing everything else in existence. And instead, this became about your greed and your bloodlust. Your insatiable hunger to see love be torn apart and to watch two of your people bleed to death along with it. You two don’t want to see if they can survive—you want to break them beyond repair and watch them die, and I cannot say the same.” 

Ryan can’t be here for a moment longer, and now that he’s said his piece, he needs to get out before he takes the whole parthenon down with the force of his anger. He turns and stalks towards the chamber door, not looking back, and not bothering to push his chair in. The closer he gets to the exit, the tighter his skin feels, the harder it gets to keep it all tucked inside of his writhing core. 

He hears another chair scrape back, and then hears TJ yell: 

“You are still bound by duty to serve on this jury! That is a bond you cannot break without severely breaking yourself along with it!” 

And it makes Ryan pause, makes his mind go blank with this white-hot fury and so much hatred that God would take his wings if He cared enough to examine it. He turns to look back at TJ, who in turn winces at the intensity of Ryan’s Light. For once, in the entire thousand years that Ryan has known him, he looks weak. He looks small and helpless and completely fucking pathetic. 

“I’m bound to my duty to protect the love and goodness in this world. My first and only duty is to make sure that Light never goes out where Light can thrive. The love that Steven and Andrew have for each other is holier than anything I’ve ever beared witness to, and it is my sworn duty, my  _ entire purpose  _ as an Archangel, to protect that kind of sacredness.” Ryan stares at TJ with so much contempt that even the demons pale under the intensity of it. “If I do not do  _ everything _ within my will to protect them, and protect their love, then I will lose  _ everything. _ There will be nothing left for you to destroy or corrupt inside of me. You can go ahead and sever my bond to this trial, and my loyalty to serving on this jury. I would rather lose most of myself on my own terms than lose everything on yours.” 

TJ looks taken aback by this proclamation, and in some other life, some other universe, Ryan might have felt the success like feeling the sun for the first time. But here and now, under these circumstances, he feels only grim determination swell within himself. 

TJ tries, once more, to bring him to his knees. “You’re going to lose Steven no matter what. If we let him live, then he’ll stay with Andrew. If he fails a test, he’ll be killed and his Form will not be resurrected. If he’s stripped of his Form, you’ll be forbidden to be in contact with him. Why fight for something you’ll never have again?” 

And once more, Ryan chooses to die on his feet. 

“I fight for him because I love him, and I will always love him. No matter his choice, no matter his Fate, I will love Steven for the rest of my existence. He will always be a piece of me, and a piece that I will protect with my life. I love him enough to let him go, if that is the decision that he wants to make. I will accept the hole in my heart if it helps to fill the hole in his. And that kind of love can never be taken away or snuffed out by your desire to corrupt everything with jealousy and hatred. Even if you managed to control my body, and managed to lock me inside of this council chamber and to the jury, my heart would always know the truth. My soul would always know that Steven and Andrew deserve to love each other and let this sacred love of theirs flourish.” 

TJ scowls at him, rage simmering into a haunted sort of malice, and Ryan says, soft but ironclad in its certainty: “They deserve to love each other, and you deserve to rot in their colosseum for all of eternity.” 

He’s met with no more words of cruelty, and no more words of control. He’s met only with the hated stare of a Greater demon who knows Ryan’s words to be true and knows he deserves to say them. Ryan, after a long, weighted pause, turns to his boss and gives her the same look of contempt he gave TJ before digging his grave. 

“I’m so fucking ashamed to work under you. To watch you trade your kindness in for a taste of viciousness. You taught me everything I know about how forgiveness and love can salvage even the most gnarled, twisted creatures, just as much as Steven did. I can’t believe you let a Greater demon talk you into abandoning all of that for a few mouthfuls of blood.” 

After Ryan says this, Kelsey inhales like he just punched her in the solar plexus as hard as he could. But other than that, she doesn’t crack, and she doesn’t reply to him. She just looks at Ryan from across the room and lets his fury wash over her, lets it wrap its fists around her throat and squeeze. 

The part of him that dies might be from disobeying his sworn duty to this jury, but he thinks that there’s really nothing else it could be but the betrayal and devastation that floods his vessel at watching Kelsey turn her back on him. There’s nothing that could ever cut him as deep as watching the woman who taught him all about Light sink into the Darkness like she was made for it. 

“You deserve to rot in the colosseum, too. You can never undo the Hell you’ve put Steven through, and you can never undo the repentance that Andrew Ilnyckyj has shown. He deserves Light more than you ever will for what you’ve done to them.” 

And with that, Ryan heaves the council chamber door open and slips through it, lets it slam shut behind him and lock his fury inside the room with everyone else. 

He stands in the silent, empty hallway for a long moment, staring unseeingly at the twin statues of Cain and Abel at the base of the staircase leading to their sleeping chambers. He feels filled to the brim and achingly empty all at once, feels like everyone on this jury has finally seen the mess of his insides and the part of Ryan that is never going to let love become villainized. He doesn’t know where to go from here, what will happen to him now that he’s spoken his condemning truth, but he knows that whatever is it, it’ll be better than being the lion trying to rip Steven and Andrew away from each other. 

Eventually, Ryan shoves himself off of the council chamber door and goes to the garden; he winds through the hedges and vegetation, letting the moonlight guide him to the bench once more. But instead of sitting, he kneels on the cold ground in front of it and steeples his hands together, eyes falling shut. For the first time in many decades, Ryan begins to pray, talks to God and talks to Steven, knowing always who he trusts more to hear his pleas for help. 

“Take what you want from me,” he says, to God, to Steven, to Andrew, to TJ, to Kelsey, to Shane Alexander Madej, and even to his own body. “Take what you want from me and give it to Steven. He has given so much of himself up for love already. He deserves to let someone give for him for once, and someone that is not Andrew Ilnycky, who has also given up more than enough for love. Take what you want from me and let them know peace.” 

And Ryan finds that, even with the mess of this trial and the mess of his own complicated love for different people in this trial, he finds peace in knowing that he can give peace to the souls that deserve it most. He finds peace in knowing that his love may never be held by Shane Madej’s hands, but it can find a home in Steven Lim’s heart, and that will make every moment of Ryan’s long, tiresome existence worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're mad at me now keep it to yourself bc i'm sensitive unless it comes to ruining ryan bergara's life fjjfjdsjsjjjs also sorry to andrew ilnyckyj for making him sound like davy jones in this chapter....... and also will turner
> 
> but if you want to sternly talk to me about my decisions [my ask box on tumblr](https://bodhirookes.tumblr.com/) is always open :-) see yall next week for more fun times!!
> 
> ***edit 9/15: heyyyy idk who may come back here to check but i'm making some structural changes to ch4!!! so it may be a little late!!! i wanted to get it up today but i don't feel good about and only want to give yall the best!!!! so ch4 will be coming within the next few days once i feel better about its format :^) thanks for being patient!


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the show must go oooonnnnnnn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmfaoooooooooooooo so the update schedule definitely went out of the window :) so so so sorry to everyone who was expecting this chapter on tuesday like i was saying i was probably gonna do. tuesday showed up and i found myself staring at this chapter while doing some "final edits" and i realized that i really was not satisfied enough with the end product to post it, so i didn't. i took a few days off from looking at it, had my lovely friend zero read over the first chunk since that was what was tripping me up, and now i'm ready to send it off into the world. i'm still not 100% satisfied by it but it's soooo much better than it was originally, so i'm okay with getting this update out for yall :^) for everyone who was like "bro shane was in ch3 for about as many seconds where tf is he" this one is for you uwu 
> 
> quick shoutout to the anon who came to yell at me on tumblr, i love you very much and i hope that god is with you and your spirit
> 
> i will try to get ch5 up in a timely manner, but just a fair warning, i may take a min to edit that one too, and i still need to heavily work on ch6, so i thank you for your patience and support!!!! i hope that this chapter will be angsty enough to hold you over until then!!!! 
> 
> (i also forgot to mention earlier that i made a [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4VZ9d8g3RuS28adtS6k8hP?si=ju2nmhm8SAKYpT3f64wBNA) for this fic if you want to listen to it!!! yes, i put _those_ hozier songs on the playlist, mind your business)

When the next morning arrives, and brings Ryan’s obligation to head downstairs to the council chamber with it, he stays right where he is, perched in one of the armchairs. 

There were many times throughout the night when he almost got up, went down to the main floor, and broke his vow right in front of the statues of Cain and Abel. There were many times when he thought about storming up to TJ’s sleeping chamber and beating the everloving shit out of him, about finishing what they started. There were many, many times when he thought about crawling into bed with Daysha, and even more times when he thought about crawling to Shane’s room on his hands and knees and begging him to leave the parthenon with him. There were so many things that Ryan wanted to do that it left him empty and wilted, and in the end, all he could do was sit in front of the window and think about the Hellhounds punching holes in Andrew Ilnyckyj’s skin and Steven Lim’s heart. 

As the sun rises, turning the sky from black to a smokey, somber grey, he sits in his armchair and doesn’t move. As time creeps forward, and the sky eventually splits open around a crack of thunder and then a torrential downpour of rain, Ryan sits and stares at it and doesn’t leave his room. There’s a pull in his stomach, one that calls him to the council chamber where all of the other angels and demons are fulfilling their jury duties, where he should be obediently sitting in his chair and watching Steven and Andrew limp out of Wasteland, Virginia into Wasteland, Maryland. But he just breathes around it, shoves it down amongst the ruined remains of his faith and the part of his soul that belongs to Steven Lim. 

He’s not sure how long he sits and watches it storm over the City of Angels, a city that rarely sees rain but gets it when they least expect it, before someone comes to find him. 

It could be minutes or hours when he hears a knock at the door. There’s nothing about it that gives away who the knock belongs to, but he guesses, at the very least, that the lack of urgency behind it means it’s not TJ. There probably wouldn’t be a door left to knock on if TJ had come to collect him. 

When Ryan eventually rises from his chair, and pads to the door of his sleeping chamber, he’s both surprised and unsurprised to find Kelsey on the other side of it. They silently appraise each other for a long, long moment, taking the time to acknowledge their combined truths. That Ryan’s vow to this jury is still in effect, and Ryan will destroy it right this minute if he has to. 

They appraise each other, and then Kelsey asks, “Can I come in?” 

Ryan thinks about turning her away, about telling her that nothing she has to say can change what she’s done. But he still loves her deeply, still has part of her etched into the patchwork of his heart where each of the angels resides, and it urges him to give her one more chance. So he steps away from the doorway and lets Kelsey enter, preparing himself for nothing but another round of disappointments and losing another irreplaceable piece of himself. 

They sit across from each other in Ryan’s twin armchairs, like he sat with Daysha so many moons ago. Just like with her, he craves Kelsey’s affirming words, craves to hear her say that everything is going to be resolved eventually, that it’s okay that his heart is breaking because she believes that it can be put back together again. But unlike Daysha, he knows that Kelsey will almost always put herself over anyone else in the name of Heaven, and it might become a place that he cannot follow her to. 

Kelsey takes a deep breath and then lets it out in the ocean between them. Ryan looks over and sees, for the first time, the exhaustion that has left its mark on her, what parts of her that this trial has wrung out and crumpled. He feels no sympathy for her, but it leaves an ache in his bones all the same. 

“I didn’t come to force you to go back down to the council room,” she starts quietly. “I came to talk, and hope that you will decide to come back down with me on your own terms.” 

“I don’t want to hear your excuses or apologies. Honor and divine codes have nothing to do with the torment you’ve put them through. And I’m not the one you should be saying sorry to.” 

“I’m not here to make excuses or apologize. I came to tell you that you were right. Are right.” 

This makes Ryan hesitate. “You came to tell me that I’m right.” 

He doesn’t phrase it as a question, but Kelsey still nods as though he did. “We… After everyone else was dismissed, TJ and I stayed behind and had a long conversation about the nature of this trial and how we’ve been handling it. Last night reached a point that we never really anticipated reaching, but when it did, I know that we took it to a level that was unnecessary and could have ended much, much worse.” 

“You could have killed them,” Ryan tells her, voice emotionless. “You would have if they didn’t give almost everything they had left to give.” 

“We could and would have.” The expression on Kelsey’s face is nowhere near as cracked open as anyone else in the trial has shown thus far, but it’s ashamed, frayed around the edges, and he lets her wallow in it. “The purpose of this trial was always to see if two beings as powerful as Steven and Andrew could be in love with each other and still perform the duties they’ve been performing for centuries. But you were undoubtedly right to say that we’ve lost sight of that path and have been taking this trial down a road that it should never have found in the first place.”

He says nothing, needing more than that to ever consider stepping foot inside of the council chamber again. 

“TJ is usually more controlled in trial settings,” she admits, and Ryan watches as she presses a few fingers to the center of her forehead. “And before this one, I always remained fair and objective, but never pushed anyone awaiting judgement to their limit. But we’ve both gotten lost in the hunt and forgot the core of this trial, and you were right to call us out on it. You were right to say that we’re treating this more like a colosseum fight than a test to determine survival of the fittest.” 

He thinks about all of the angels and demons that have been sent to track Steven and Andrew down, all of the Hellhounds that have been sent to drag them back kicking and screaming. He thinks about how Kelsey and TJ have been chasing them towards the edge of oblivion, and all because Steven and Andrew brought each other back from it. 

When Ryan speaks again, his words almost fail him from how furious he is, at how cruel this entire trial has been for the two people who deserve it the least. 

“It was just one mistake,” he whispers, a tremor working its way up his throat and down to his hands at the word _mistake._ “They just fell in love with each other. I never, ever, _ever_ truly understood why we needed to condemn any of the angels and demons that fell for each other, but them above all.” 

She turns to him. “What if they ruin everything?” 

And Ryan turns to her, eyes steady even though his voice is hoarse with grief. “What if they save us all?” 

They appraise each other once more, and acknowledge a new set of truths: Kelsey is scared to death that Steven and Andrew will destroy both of their worlds with the force of their love, and Ryan is afraid that all will be lost without them and their love. Kelsey would kill for the promise of stability and Ryan would die for a chance of freedom. 

“Even before this trial, they wouldn’t have destroyed anything. They would have been able to love each other without anyone having to suffer because of it. And now you’re hurting them and you’re hurting all of us for something that doesn’t need to have pain and terror accompany it. Love is the reason for everything good and bad in this world, and their love is one that even God cannot pretend is not pure and beautiful. Their love could mend a lot of our broken bridges.” 

Kelsey tilts her head, more an acknowledgement than a submission to this statement that Ryan makes. “You’re right—they could change the world with the force and the power behind their feelings for each other.” 

“Or they could do nothing, boss. They could live with it without it doing anything but existing and growing between the two of them. It doesn’t have to be this wild, catastrophic disaster you and TJ have made it out to be. Their love can be theirs and it never has to involve anyone else but them.” 

Again, she nods, and it leaches some of the fury from Ryan’s bruised heart. “That’s what we’re hoping for above all. That they can sustain the love without turning it into some uncontrollable force that will wipe everything out in its wake.” 

Ryan can hold a grudge for decades, has done so before and will probably do so again, but with the angels, it’s always excruciating for him to feel anger towards any of them. And Kelsey has a lifetime of repentance to do for what she’s done to all of them, but Ryan feels his love for her like a dying flower unfurling from the edge of collapse, feels the flower reach desperately for the thread of life and Light. He takes the hand of hers that’s closest to him and grips it with both of his, presses their joined hands to his lips. 

_ “Please,”  _ he says, raw and full to the brim with hope. “Please, please just give them a chance to come home and love each other. They won’t crack the world in half, they just want to coexist in it and keep doing what they’ve been doing for centuries. They don’t want to hurt anyone.” 

She squeezes his hands, brings her other one down on top of his and holds on tight. “I can’t promise anything right now. We still have to complete this trial, and there are still some aspects of their relationship that we need to take a look at. But I can promise you that we’re not going to lose ourselves to madness from now on. We’re going to keep each other in check and keep our focus on what really matters in this trial, and we’re going to give them a fair shot to make us believe it could ever work.” 

It wasn’t the absolute answer he was hoping for, but it’s miles away from the insanity that Kelsey and TJ have been showcasing these past few weeks. They both know now that he’s willing to break himself for Steven and Andrew, and he now knows that they’ve taken his severity into consideration, and possibly the severity of the others on this jury. It wasn’t the answer that he was looking for, but for right now, it’s the answer he needs. 

“I’ll come down to the council chamber. I’ll see this trial out.” Ryan makes sure she’s still looking when he finishes with: “But they’ve paid their debts. They’ve earned the chance to rest and be with each other. And I’ll fight until my last breath to give them that chance.” 

“I understand,” Kelsey replies, and the sincerity in her voice and eyes soothes the scar tissue that has been building up in Ryan since this trial began so long ago. 

After that, he follows her out of his room and down to the council chamber without a fuss. The sight of the door doesn’t fill him with dread and fury like it normally does, but it does draw his absolution back, his fierce protectiveness of Steven and Andrew. He walks into the council chamber with his head high and his stare unwavering, emitting the clear message that the fury has begun to simmer but his determination has not. That he is still willing to tear his Form in half if it will take away his liability to hurting either of them. 

Every head turns when the door opens, and every pair of eyes spear into Ryan as he pauses in the entryway. He meets the gazes of his angels, takes comfort in their palpable relief and the bright wall of their love for him. And he meets the gazes of the demons, who are all looking at him with an expression that no demon has ever looked at him with before: respect. 

His eyes get stuck on one demon in particular for longer than they should. Shane Madej hides it well, even after everything they’ve said and done to each other, but under his cool, blank exterior, Ryan can see the complicated mesh of emotions welling within him. He sees the relief the angels feel, and the respect the demons feel, and for maybe the first time ever, a jagged, glowing shard of pain that Ryan will never be able to look away from again if he wanted to. He is once more hit with the damning knowledge that he would do nearly anything Shane asked of him, would leave everything Holy behind for a chance of something depraved and beautiful. 

Movement to Shane’s left draws Ryan’s eyes away from him at last. TJ is gazing over at Ryan just the same as his underlings, with a combination of this hard-earned respect and his usual cruelty. The respect keeps Ryan in the room, but the cruelty keeps him in the doorway. 

They keep their eyes on each other as TJ rounds to the head of the table, next to where Kelsey is standing and waiting for Ryan to walk towards his seat. For once, he doesn’t feel like this interaction with TJ Marchbank is going to end with swinging fists or like he’s got one foot in his grave already, but he doesn’t relax, doesn’t let himself hope for reconciliation just yet. 

TJ stares at him, and Ryan stares back, unflinching and ready to shatter his jury bond with his own two hands, and then TJ simply says: 

“Bergara.” 

Just that one word, those three syllables, say more than what will probably, actually be said out loud. It lets them both look at their condemning truths: TJ has to finish this trial, and Ryan has to stay true to his morals. TJ will start a war if he continues on this path of mindless terrorization, and Ryan will be the first one to bury a sword in his heart if he does. 

Ryan’s still got one foot in his grave and the other pressed to TJ’s throat. “Marchbank.” 

At the sound of his last name, mocking and serious all at once, TJ almost smiles. “I’m glad you decided to join us, after all.” 

“There’s still work to be done.” Ryan glances between them, where he can just barely make out Steven and Andrew sitting in their stolen car on the telecast. “Work I was convinced to come back and finish.” 

“I’m glad Impicciche  _ convinced _ you that it was worth doing.” 

There’s an unforgiving, steel edge to Ryan’s words when he replies. “She wasn’t the one who convinced me. I didn’t come back for her wellbeing. I came back for Steven Lim’s, and Andrew Ilnyckyj’s, and all the angels and demons who would be irreparably broken if you killed them.” 

TJ, surprisingly, doesn’t snarl when Ryan says this. If anything, the reluctant smile growing on his face nearly breaks free for everyone to witness. He just barely manages to wrestle it down, but Ryan sees it like a heavy, glowing hunter’s moon, orange and devastatingly gorgeous in the night sky. He sees it like that last buoy bobbing in the middle of a violent, churning ocean. There’s nearly nothing about the smile that is vicious or mean; it almost looks proud, if Ryan thought that TJ was ever capable of feeling pride for other beings besides himself. 

“You didn’t come back for yourself?” he eventually asks, voice tinted with amusement. 

It makes Ryan speak with honesty. “Of course I did. Just as you continue to come back for yourself. We’re both the same, at the core of this trial. We both have much to gain and lose if it ends poorly. It’s just that you’re afraid of losing your chair and I’m afraid of losing my morality. You want to save your domain and I want to save someone that I love very, very much.” 

TJ says nothing, just blinks at Ryan with something akin to surprise, so Ryan tells him: “It’s just that you think you can only save one or the other, and I think we can save everything by letting them be. I came back to try and convince you of this, for their sake, and mine, and yours.  _ All _ of ours.” 

They stare at each other once more, neither speaking again. Ryan feels no love for TJ Marchbank, but he thinks that he could, if TJ ever learned what it means to have empathy. He meant it when he said that he witnessed all of the other demons at the table showcase some brand of kindness and compassion at one point or another during this trial. He feels no love for TJ, and he will have to pay for his crimes the same as Kelsey, but Ryan wants to lead him to the Light all the same. TJ is just as well-trained as Kelsey to hide his emotions, but there must be some scale missing from his armor still, one that Ryan ripped out last night, because he can still press into TJ and feel the emptiness and the rawness that lies underneath his cruel Form. 

After a long, long moment, where they look resolutely onto each other’s truths and each other’s Achilles heels, TJ gives him a similarly Kelsey-esque tilt of his head. Not a submission, just an acceptance. 

“Then let’s get back at it.” 

Ryan waits for TJ and Kelsey to sit before he does the same. He goes to his chair, brushing a hand across each of the angels’ shoulders that he passes, calling on their love and their Light for strength. Each bolt of Light helps to stitch up the wounds that TJ and Kelsey ripped open, helps to stitch up the wounds that Steven and Andrew have ripped open, and helps to stitch up the wounds that Ryan himself has ripped open. When he’s sitting, he catches TJ’s eye again, and just tilts his head in response, doesn’t say anything that the hard line of his jaw and the fire behind his eyes don’t already say for him. TJ gives him a smirk that he might say is impressed if he weren’t a pessimist, and then he looks back to Steven and Andrew. 

Ryan turns to do the same, but somewhere between TJ’s dark smirk and the telecast, he gets caught on Shane Madej’s piercing stare. Shane is looking over at him with furrowed eyebrows and eyes that are glittering like two stones of onyx; Ryan’s first thought is that the expression he’s wearing is resentment, a fury that could build to Ryan’s between one second and the next. But then he peers closer, for once unafraid of what he will find, and realizes that the expression is not one of fury but of a ravenous, gutting longing, one that Ryan goes to sleep and wakes with, like clockwork. 

It’s too much to see in a room full of other angels and demons, in a room full of people who still might strike Steven and Andrew down after everything that they’ve already been through. It’s too much to see and keep his own pain and longing where it belongs: deep down inside of him, amongst the ruins of his faith and the part of his soul that Steven Lim will always hold. 

Ryan tilts his head, an acknowledgement and not a submission, and turns back to the telecast. He feels a small nudge of glamour against his ribcage, a sweet, melancholy kiss that could only belong to the demon he can’t stand to look at for too long without fear of everything spilling out. It puts a lump in his throat, but he spares his own gentle kiss, presses a tendril of his Light right up against Shane’s mangled, rotten core and lets it linger. 

**_~.~.~_ **

The next few days float by without any real events occurring. Kelsey and TJ seem to be taking their promise to re-strategize seriously, and they let Steven and Andrew heal without sending anything to chase after them. It eliminates a lot of the lingering tension from the council chamber, and instead of using their free time to pick at each other, the angels and demons mostly continue to sit in silence and take comfort in this newfound ease. 

One night, as Steven and Andrew are slowly making their way across Maryland, they decide to get off the road early and spend some time out on the town. They’re highly aware of the lack of threats coming for them, but also aware of the fact that they’re more than willing to fight whatever tries to stop them, even more so than before. So they park the car at a nice hotel around 7 P.M. and spend the evening at a cute restaurant and window shopping like they’re regular mortals. They use their combined glamour to make the humans’ gazes slide right off of them so they can hold hands as they walk. If Kelsey and TJ reining in their attacks calmed the jury, seeing Steven and Andrew enjoy themselves for a night lights a spark of joy in everyone, one that makes the room feel alive for the first time since the trial started. 

After they get done strolling, they head to their hotel room to rest. Andrew is still recovering from the beating he took, and Steven ends up drawing them a hot bath to get into so that he can soak his sore muscles. They listen to music off of the radio clock the hotel keeps on the TV stand and Andrew dozes against Steven’s chest while Steven holds him and hums quietly. 

When it’s clear that all Steven and Andrew are going to be doing for the rest of the night is bathing and sleeping, Kelsey dismisses them. 

“We’re going to adjourn for today,” she announces, shutting the telecast off. “You all deserve a night off. Go out and be back tomorrow at the usual time.” 

No one questions her or gives her or TJ the chance to take it back. They’re all out of their seats and out of the council chamber before TJ can snatch the dismal back and make them sit for another twelve hours. 

Out in the hallway, Daysha and Jen link their arms with Ryan’s and begin to pull him towards the entrance to the parthenon. 

“Where are we going?” he asks them, though he doesn’t particularly care where they go as long as it’s out of this wretched building. 

“Out,” Daysha says helpfully. 

Jen snorts. “We’re gonna go pull a Steven-and-Andrew and act like we’re mundanes tonight. Eat a lot of food and drink until we pass out.”

“I’m pretty sure we can only do one of those things,” Ryan teases, though the idea fills him with brilliant sunlight. 

Daysha reaches up to press his lips together. “Hush, you’ll ruin the fun.” 

When they step outside into the hot, pulsing L.A. night, Curly is also waiting for them on the front steps. He’s looking out onto the street, but turns and gives the three of them a huge smile when he hears the front door creak open. 

“Are we ready to fucking party?” 

“Bergara is skeptical, but what’s new,” Daysha tells him, grinning widely. “We’re not surprised, right?” 

“Not even a little,” Curly sighs, and when they get close enough, hooks a finger into Ryan’s shirt collar. “Let’s go, babe—you deserve a night to be free more than any of us. And we’re going to make sure you get it, my love. Even if we have to force-feed you spinach dip and mojitos all night long.” 

The four of them blend seamlessly into the crowded sidewalks of Los Angeles, chattering about anything they can think of as long as it has nothing to do with the trial or Heaven and Hell. To keep the flow easy, Jen moves to link arms with Curly up front, and Ryan holds onto Daysha, craving her loving touch even outside of the council chamber. The farther they get away from it, the longer they’re lost inside of a crowd full of hundreds of strangers all laughing and talking like they could die happy in this very moment, the more soothed Ryan feels. He has always loved L.A., loved the huge city and its huge masses of people from all over the world, loved its heat and its brightness, loved the smell of millions of different types of foods all wafting together and loved the clashing of different types of music trying to overpower each other. He loves the peace he finds in its anonymity, the peace he finds in knowing that he can be himself wholly and no one will pay him any mind. 

They wind up at some restaurant/bar fusion that’s half inside and half outside. Inside is the formal dining area, with glass walls around the patrons and their tables and a smaller bar tucked into one of its dark corners; outside is a sprawl of tables and a longer, lit-up bar that sits next to a karaoke stage. They wordlessly decide to seat themselves at one of the tables outside, content to be together in the half-dark of the night and the lingering traces of scorching summer heat. 

“We haven’t done this in such a long time,” Curly gushes, once they’re sitting down together. Ryan is next to Daysha still, and Curly is across from him, so he starts a little when Curly reaches out and takes both of his hands. “I miss pretending to be humans with you guys.” 

“We’ve been pretty preoccupied,” Ryan agrees, squeezing his hands. “I don’t know if it’ll ever end.” 

Jen smiles at him, tired but sincere. “I think your showdown with TJ influenced them to wrap this shit up sooner rather than later. They’re starting to give in.” 

“I hope so.” Ryan feels his own crushing exhaustion, so heavy and sudden that it makes him shut his eyes and bow his head for a few moments. “I just need it to be over with. No matter the outcome. No matter what it takes.” 

There’s a burdensome silence that sits at the table with them while they digest Ryan’s words, and the worn, thin tone to them. And then Daysha runs a gentle, loving hand over his hunched shoulders and says: “No more talk about the trial. We’re mundanes tonight, remember? All we need to care about is the here and now.” 

So they don’t talk about the trial anymore. Instead, Curly starts a tale about the first time he came to L.A. after the turn of the 21st century and it gets them all going. 

It still amazes Ryan how full of life his angels are even after centuries of living through hardship after hardship. Even though they’re all old enough to remember the Holy Roman Empire, and all of the different Revolutions, and even when L.A. became the cinema capital of the nation, they act young and free, as if they really are mortals who have only been around for a few decades. They laugh with their whole bodies, talk like there is magic left to be found in the world, and let their shared love for each other fill the air around their table like the sweetest perfume. They order enough food and drinks to cover every available inch of the table and they talk and talk and talk like they don’t already know everything there is to know about each other. 

In between their belly laughs and their half-whispered confessions about life and magic, Ryan feels the wound that this trial has left on him close the tiniest bit. He still misses Steven like a limb, would give up just about anything in the world to bring him home or let him stay with Andrew without losing everything else, but the ache that his absence has brought doesn’t flare every time Ryan thinks about him. Sitting in this warm L.A. night outside of this warm L.A. bar, surrounded by his closest companions, makes him feel like it all might turn out okay eventually. No one can or will ever replace Steven, but Ryan now knows that if it comes down to it, as long as Steven is healthy and happy, he will be able to bear not being with him. 

They talk, laugh, and eat until the late hours of the night, so late that it fades into very early morning. L.A. never slows down for a second, and there are still a few hours to go until the bars will close, so the angels don’t pay much attention to the time. They order drink after drink, use a little glamour so that their server keeps returning but doesn’t pay too close attention to them, and they talk about anything they can think of that doesn’t involve Steven’s wings being torn from his back. 

Eventually, after ordering half the drink menu, Curly finally decides to try and convince one of them to come sing karaoke with him. 

“Please?” he asks the table, and folds his hands into a cheeky praying gesture. “It’s going to be  _ so  _ much fun, I promise. Please, please, please?” 

Jen laughs at his pleading, taking the last swallow of her drink. “Absolutely not. You’ve heard me sing before—would not recommend it for the general public’s viewing.” 

“You sound fine!” 

“I shatter glass when I sing.” She takes a furtive glance at the bar, her tenth in half as many minutes, and purses her lips. “Besides, I have some business to attend to if we’re breaking this party up.” 

Curly visibly wilts. “What business could possibly be more important than karaoke? Karaoke where we can _sing_ _Queen songs?”_

Jen jerks a thumb over her shoulder and says: “Business that involves a really pretty brunette whose name I’m 99% sure is Elizabeth and who likes a good, strong Sex on the Beach.” 

And with that, Jen is slinking through the slight crowd to get to the bar, where a striking girl is drinking a Sex on the Beach and laughing delightedly at the couple singing karaoke together. Jen flags the bartender down a few feet in front of possibly-Elizabeth, far enough down to not block her view but close enough to become her view if Jen catches her attention. Which she does; Ryan laughs loudly when possibly-Elizabeth glances at Jen and promptly begins to choke on her drink right afterwards.

“Unbelievable,” Daysha sighs, but it’s loving. “Bergara, you want to take this one?” 

“If Jen shatters glass when she sings, then I shatter bones.” Ryan watches as Jen puts on her best smile and offers the girl some water the bartender passes her. “No amount of glamour could mask or fix it. Sorry.” 

Daysha sighs again. “Someday I’ll be able to resist you, Curly Velasquez. All right—let’s go get this over with.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Curly cheers, and when Daysha meets him at the head of their table, he kisses her soundly on the forehead. “You are the love of my life, woman.” 

“I most certainly am!” Daysha lets Curly pull her towards the karaoke stage, and the last thing Ryan hears before they’re lost in the crowd is her yelling: “—And we are  _ not _ singing ‘Love Shack’ again, babe, I  _ refuse!”  _

Ryan watches them go with a lightness he hasn’t felt in weeks and weeks. He smiles as Curly and Daysha squabble over what song to sing, and as Jen flirts heavily with possibly-Elizabeth and possibly-Elizabeth flirts heavily back. He loved spending the night with them, but now he’s content to sit back and watch them enjoy themselves outside of the haven of the table. He settles another layer of glamour over it, so the mortals still think that the area is occupied but glance over him completely and carry on. So that he can sit and watch his angels some more, and maybe some of the mortals, too, if he feels like it. 

He watches Curly and Daysha perform their first song together (a compromised choice of ‘You’re the One That I Want’ from  _ Grease _ ), and then the one after that when the crowd pleads for them to go again. When they start their third song at an even louder request from the bar patrons, Ryan sits back in his seat and lets his mind wander. He sits in this perfect half-lit night all by himself, in the wash of voices from the bar and voices from the street, and gets lost in thoughts that aren’t scary or angry for the first time in months. 

He’s drawn to the people still wandering the streets a little past midnight, either by themselves or in a cluster of other people. Ryan watches them all walk by without any of them seeing him in return, and he wonders about their lives. He wonders what it would be like to be human, to be as young as he was Before and always changing, always chasing life like he couldn’t get enough of it. He wonders what it would be like to see the world for the first time again, find it in the loud, crowded, wide-open streets of Los Angeles. He wonders what it would be like to love someone without it haunting him to his grave. He wonders what it would be like to love someone without everything they’re made of designed to snuff him out and leave him broken beyond repair. 

He wonders what it would be like to love someone who is made of fire and never worry about only being scorched instead of catching fire, too. 

And then he wonders about the Midwest, so that he won’t wonder about the uncontrollable flames already licking and burning his insides. 

He dreams about the sprawling emptiness of the Midwest, and all of the treasures hidden amongst the Wastelands and the long, winding roads. Most of the places that Steven and Andrew went, in an attempt to throw the Hounds off of their trail, had been barren and lonely. Full of nothing but the half-baked promise of security and invisibility and lots and lots of dirt. But there had been a few places they passed through that were bursting with life: colorful forests dense with ancient, looming trees, fields full of yellow dandelions with no end in sight, breath-taking, radiant sunrises and sunsets bleeding across crystal clear lakes. Ryan dreams of driving along these long, winding roads and breathing the freshest air he’ll have breathed in centuries. He dreams about going and going and never having to stop until he finds a place that makes him feel like he fits into his vessel again. 

He’s dreaming about the wonderland of the Upper Peninsula, about the best ways that someone could get lost up there, when a soft, charming voice asks him: “Is this seat taken?” 

Ryan blinks, and wonderland disappears; in its place is Shane Madej, who is his own beautiful, endless wonderland. He thinks about saying no, tries to remind himself why he  _ should  _ say no when he’s only just found this semblance of calm. But the lure of this specific wonderland is one that Ryan has been beating down for a thousand years, and he finds himself unable to resist it tonight. 

“No,” he replies, not wanting to fight. “It’s all yours.” 

Shane carefully folds himself into the chair across from Ryan, the one Curly was previously occupying. He looks how he always does: a little devious, and a little humored, like he’s in on some joke that no one else is; he also looks softer around the edges, and more subdued, like he’s also not looking for a fight. Like he just wants to sit across from someone in this half-lit night and get lost in his thoughts. Ryan stares as Shane settles in, and then he turns to where Curly and Daysha are still singing their hearts out, not trying to fight but also not trying to show all his cards. 

They share a mostly-comfortable silence and observe as Curly twirls Daysha around the stage area, both of them belting out the lyrics to the  _ Moulin Rouge!  _ version of ‘Your Song’ together. They both have beautiful voices underneath the theatrics, and even catch the attention of people strolling by on the sidewalk. He smiles to himself as he watches, glad to see that they are also feeling free and coming to life tonight. 

When they start to waltz during the music break, Shane lets out a delighted laugh. The sound of it is just as free and full of life as their singing, and it makes Ryan’s stomach flutter. 

“They’re great at this,” he comments, just as the crowd begins to catcall. “In another life…” 

Ryan hums. “In another life. They could have gone to the top, probably.” 

They don’t say anything else for the rest of the song, not wanting to miss a moment of it. Curly and Daysha continue to spin across the small stage, harmonizing and gazing deeply into each other’s eyes. If Ryan didn’t know better, if he was one of the mundanes watching in the crowd or the street, he would easily think that the two of them are in love with each other. As it is, he knows that Curly and Daysha do love each other deeply, like Ryan loves Steven, and that in itself is enough to convince the bar patrons. 

‘Your Song’ ends, and the crowd begs and pleads for yet another performance. When it’s confirmed that there’s no one waiting to go on, Curly convinces Daysha to do a Queen song with him and requests ‘Somebody To Love’ be put on. There’s another wave of cheers when it begins, and Curly flashes them a dazzling grin before jumping right in.

Ryan can only hear the words:  _ “Can anybody find me somebody to love?” _ so many times before he has to turn back to Shane. Has to turn back to him, look at the tiny, fond smile on his handsome, weary face, and ask: 

“Why are you here?” 

He doesn’t want the words to come out mean, and for once, they don’t. They come out how he intends them to come out: unsure, but more curious than contemptuous. Imploring, slightly wonderstruck, words that say:  _ Why are you here?  _ but mean:  _ What would it take to make you stay?  _

Shane turns from the karaoke stage to him. Ryan expects the smile to drop off of his face, but instead it grows, like a heavy, glowing hunter’s moon, orange and devastatingly gorgeous in the night sky. 

“I could hear Daysha singing from ten blocks away—her voice alone could fill this entire city up. Then I heard Curly singing, too, and knew I had to come see the show. I also knew you would be here to keep me company, so it was an offer I couldn’t resist. A temptation from the Garden of Eden, if you will.” 

He rests his hands on the table, trying to appear relaxed and open towards Ryan. And though his smile is like a breath of fresh air, and the crinkles around his eyes and lips make him shiver, Ryan can see a tension residing within him still, can see the sorrow underneath the moonlight of his crooked, lovely grin. He loves Shane Madej desperately, enough to want to rid the sorrow from his heart and leave behind only this gorgeous, warm moonlight; but he loves himself too, enough to walk away from the moonlight if all that’s sitting underneath it is shadows. 

So he asks again, and his words are terribly soft, softer than Shane probably deserves. 

“Shane,” he whispers, into the half-lit darkness surrounding them. “Why are you here?” 

A few clouds appear over the moon of his smile, but it stays put, even as he admits one of his condemning truths. 

“I know you’ll be shocked to hear this, Mr. Bergara, but I’ve made a few mistakes in my life.” Shane’s eyes trace all of the corners of Ryan’s face, find all of its vulnerable edges and let them be for the first time in a thousand years. “I’ve made a few mistakes during this trial alone. One of those mistakes has been seeking you out with the intent to hurt you. But I thought that maybe tonight, I could seek you out with the intent to fix something I broke, and it wouldn’t be a mistake. I wouldn’t have to turn it into a mistake.” 

Ryan watches as Shane gathers himself and his thoughts, unable to come up with something to say back. But it appears as though Shane isn’t looking for him to reply, is still looking for a way to fix whatever it is that he’s broken first. Ryan lets him think, and lets himself think about the slope of Shane’s nose and the slight curl of hair around his ears. 

Eventually, Shane releases a breath and looks at Ryan with no small amount of amusement. “You really are something else, angel.” 

It sounds a lot like  _ You are a curious creature, Ryan Bergara.  _ “How so?” 

“I’ve never seen someone challenge TJ to a brawl on his own turf and live to tell the tale. Not even Darragh can fuck with him.” And then, after some consideration: “Not even me.” 

Ryan gives him an unimpressed look. “We’re not on his turf. We’re on neutral stomping grounds, even if he likes to pretend otherwise.” 

Shane’s eyes glitter in the street lights. “But you’d still go head-to-head with him in Hell.” 

“I would still go head-to-head with him in Hell.”

“Without a second thought.” Shane waits for Ryan to nod, and then drums his fingers against the table top. “That’s what I’m talking about, when I say that you’re something else.” 

“Oh, I get it,” Ryan says, giving in a little. “You think I’m an idiot.” 

He readies himself for Shane to agree, to send this feeble truce up in flames like he usually does, but instead he gets: “Not at all. I think you’re very brave and admirable in your rage, and I wish I could be more like that. I wish I could be guided more by my heart than my head, and I wish that I was better at doing what I know is right than doing what I’m led to believe is right.”

Shane taps his fingers against the table again, peering at Ryan with one of his most open expressions to date, and admits: “I wish I could be brave like you.” 

Ryan stares, and stares, and stares, and Shane stares back with his amused, haunted eyes and that amused, haunted twist to his mouth. There have been times, in their long, complicated history with each other, where he was able to see fragments of Shane’s true feelings underneath his hardened exterior, underneath all of the bullshit and indifference that comes along with being a Greater demon. He’s seen many blink-and-you’ll-miss-it glimpses of the longing that always has its face pressed up against the glass caging Shane’s soul in. Ryan has seen enough pieces of the fondness, rage, and envy that all lie beneath the surface of his Form to never quite lose hope that Shane could love him back. 

But it’s nothing like this: Shane’s shoulders are curled in slightly, like he’s afraid of Ryan and trying not to be, and his eyes are a pair of livewires that say his many truths without his lips having to move. His fingers drum restlessly against the table top, and his throat bobs like he might start sobbing, or screaming. He says nothing else for a long, long moment, but it’s the most honest he’s ever been with Ryan besides their heated conversation in the garden. 

The rush of astonishment that Ryan feels at the sight of it, at the sight of Shane basically stripping naked in front of him and letting Ryan take his fill, nearly makes him sob, too. Nearly makes him scream until no ear in the world has been left unscathed by the horrible wretchedness of it. 

Instead of sobbing or screaming, Ryan takes a layer of his own off. Lets Shane see how desperate he is to save him from the claws of Hell and TJ Marchbank. 

Shane inhales sharply, and Ryan sees the edges of his vessel blur, like he’s barely suppressing the urge to shudder. 

“Every time the sun rises, I think about what it would be like to be brave,” Shane continues, voice low and raw under the sound of the streets. “And every time it sets, I think about what a waste it is to be cruel instead.” 

His whole body aches at these words. “You don’t have to be cruel.” 

“I’ve been cruel since Before,” Shane tells him. “I died cruel, and I woke up cruel, and have been cruel ever since. I’ve known torture and agony more than I’ve ever known anything else in my entire existence. Cruelty is woven into every last cell in my body, and was probably woven into my destiny before it was even completely formed.” 

Ryan stares at the scars that cover the bare skin of Shane’s knuckles and his throat, and says nothing back. He’s afraid of what will come out of his mouth if he tries to move it: an agreement or a vehement denial.

Shane hears it anyways, if the light flinch of his shoulders is anything to go by. 

“I belong in Hell, and I know it. There was nowhere else I could have possibly gone when it was all said and done.” He levels Ryan with a look that is equally strong and shattering into a million and one pieces at the same time. “I did despicable things Before, and I’ve done plenty of despicable things After. I’ve filled out my role of Greater demon nicely, and I’m good at what I do. It’s all I’ve ever known and it shows.” 

He holds Ryan’s gaze for a few beats, so that they both have to listen to the truth in his words and let it be acknowledged. And then he drops his eyes to the table, where his scarred knuckles are trembling faintly, and he says: 

“But sometimes… I think I could change. Sometimes, when the sun rises and I let myself think about why Andrew left, or when I see you cutting TJ down to his core, I think I could change. I think that some version of myself could be brave.” 

The admission knocks the breath out of Ryan’s lungs. It wraps itself around his heart and squeezes until Ryan thinks he may never breathe right again, may feel the sear of Shane Madej’s confession every time he inhales and exhales for the rest of eternity. 

Shane’s hands are shaking visibly now where they’re pressed into the table, like it’s the only thing keeping him from being dragged back to Hell. The sight of it mixed with his pained, honest words makes Ryan reach out in the hopes to keep all of Shane’s splintered, unravelling pieces together. 

Slowly, so slowly that Shane doesn’t notice until they’re already touching, Ryan slides his hands across the table. He pushes them forwards until their fingers are overlapping, until he can curl their scarred knuckles together and haul Shane back in. The Greater demon looks up at Ryan with a start, without having enough time to school his features into something less destroyed; it’s the best and worst thing Ryan has ever looked upon, Shane Madej’s honesty. 

“You have every opportunity to be brave,” Ryan tells him fiercely. “You have every right. You have  _ every single right  _ to be and do whatever you want to. You are Shane fucking Madej, and there is no one in Heaven or Hell or anywhere in between who can tell you who you should be. Not even TJ Marchbank. Not even God.” 

“No one except you,” Shane says, thumbs pushing into the divot between his index and middle fingers. 

_ “Me?” _ The single word is so thin and fragile that it almost doesn’t come out at all. 

Shane’s long, calloused fingers strain closer, until they’re covering Ryan’s wrists and his thumbs are pressed to Ryan’s palms. He has to bite down on the instinctive need to turn his hands over and grab onto Shane’s wrists, the overwhelming desire to grab them and use the hold to pull Shane across the table and to his watering mouth. He bites down on it and lets Shane’s fingers touch all the places he’s been starving for for years and years. 

“You,” Shane says again, voice like gravel. “Always you. There’s no one in Heaven or Hell who has ever driven me as mad as you have. There’s no one in Heaven or Hell that influences me so deeply.” 

Ryan’s eyes flutter shut and open again in a single beat of his heart, but it’s enough for him to remember that he needs to keep his head screwed on tight and keep it from being led astray. Even by Shane.  _ Especially _ by Shane. 

He squares his chin, like he has so many times during this trial, and fixes Shane with a steady, unamused gaze. 

“You could have fooled me.” 

“I did.” Shane’s ring fingers trace a feather-light touch from where the back of Ryan’s hands meet the back of his wrists to nearly the middle of his forearm, and only centuries of resilience keeps his skin from breaking out into goosebumps. “But then again, maybe I didn’t.” 

It’s probably the closest they’ve ever come to saying the words out loud—what they mean to each other, and possibly, what they’d do for each other. Despite needing to keep himself together at whatever cost, despite needing to keep his wits about him and his resolve firm, Ryan feeds the beast in his stomach just enough to keep it from clawing his insides up. He strokes one index finger along the soft, pale skin of Shane’s inner arm, and revels in the way that Shane’s breath hitches; it shouldn’t be audible, but Ryan hears it like it was fed through Daysha’s karaoke mic and into the balmy L.A. night. 

And even though he can’t lose himself to the hunger, to this overwhelming, ravaging hunger that he’s spent his entire second life hiding, Ryan is tired of lying about its existence. 

“I could say the same thing about you,” he tells Shane. “But maybe you already knew that.” 

“Maybe you fooled me too. You are a man of many secrets, and the only emotion you ever give freely to a creature like myself is anger.” 

“It’s all I can afford to give you.” He doesn’t know how to say it without letting everything else come spilling out. “It’s all I know how to give you.” 

Shane looks at him for another long moment, so Ryan lets himself look, too. There’s much to be said about their individual and combined truths, much to be said about all of the ways that Ryan Bergara and Shane Madej fit together both seamlessly and not at all, but when it comes down to it, this is all that  _ can _ be said: Ryan would give everything up for Shane, but will never consider it until Shane can look at him without also looking like he’s got one foot in his grave. Like he wants to devour Ryan’s Light and leave his vessel behind to die. 

All that can be said is this: there is always going to be a piece of Ryan’s soul that belongs to Steven, and there is always going to be a piece of Ryan’s soul that belongs to Shane, and there is always going to be only so much of his soul that he can lose without completely losing himself. 

“Is that why you angels are always so cold and aloof?” Shane eventually asks, smiling grimly. “Why you can’t stand to be anything other than pissed off at us? Because you have to hide just how much your love consumes you?” 

Ryan is tired of lying, so he nods, a single heavy, exhausted dip of the chin he hates holding up like a shield. “Of course. It’s the same as the way you demons are always so cavalier and sleazy when you talk to us. Like you can’t stand the thought of anyone knowing that you can still feel love at all.” 

Shane’s smile grows wider and more horrible, as if to say  _ Touché, angel.  _ “Do you think demons can still love? Despite all of the cavalier and sleazy things we do? All of the pain and suffering we have to stir up to live off of? Do you think we can still love and be wretched at the same time?” 

Ryan wants to shout that the maddening glimpses he gets of Shane’s love makes him want to cry, sometimes, or blast the entirety of Hell with Holy Fire for making him keep it caged up inside of himself. Instead of saying this, or nodding, Ryan moves his hands until his fingers are completely intertwined with Shane’s, until they’re so tangled together that Shane will have to free himself if he wants to move away from Ryan. 

“I think you’re just like us. I think you love just as deeply and fiercely as angels do—maybe even more so. I think that love makes you wretched, and keeps you from becoming wretched still. I think you demons love more than you hate, and if you were allowed to love more than hate, you would be able to find salvation.” 

Shane laughs and manages to make it sound amused and dismissive all at once. “Little guy, if that were the case, I would’ve been cruising in Heaven for almost a thousand years now.” 

“No you wouldn’t. Because you think love is more damning than it is freeing. Even if it could fill you up with Light, you’d rather be empty than let love touch your insides.” 

Shane’s fingers tighten around his, almost painfully, like he’s trying to keep Ryan from slamming his fists into his heart. 

_ “Ryan—”  _

He hardly ever says Ryan’s first name, preferring to use his last or a nickname to keep some sort of barrier between the two of them. He hardly ever dares to speak Ryan’s Christian name, and when he does, it usually sends a lick of fire up Ryan’s spine. Tonight, when he says it, it opens up that deep pit of longing in his gut that he doesn’t think will ever close again. 

“Ryan,” Shane repeats, looking miserable and ferocious. “There is nothing in my entire two thousand years of living, next to anger, that I have ever felt more than I have felt love. If you took away the cruelty and the rage, all you would find is the ruinous mess of love that hides underneath.” 

The grief in his voice nearly knocks Ryan to the ground, nearly makes his eyes fill right up with tears. He fights to keep his gaze level, but his voice betrays him once more when he asks: 

“Why can’t you just try to let it see the Light, then? Just once?” 

“You know why. It would tear me apart.  _ They  _ would tear me apart.” 

Ryan squeezes his hands desperately, even though he knows just how badly the demons would descend upon Shane if he ever showed anything besides cruelty. “But I already told you—you’re Shane fucking Madej, and you can do and be whatever you want to. It won’t happen overnight, but all of our worlds are changing. They might even let Steven and Andrew love each other without breaking our worlds in half. You could be saved someday if you let yourself love more than you hurt.” 

Shane looks at him, across this scuffed-up restaurant table, and for the first time in his existence as an angel, Ryan looks back and doesn’t feel like he’ll cut himself on Shane’s barbed edges. On the contrary, Shane looks like one wrong word will twist that barbed wire into his sternum and shred everything that lies within it. Ryan feels a fierce surge of protectiveness for the creature who has always been able to stick his claws into Ryan’s heart and yank, who has never appeared anything less than goliath. 

“You really think there are demons who could be saved? Who could ever find salvation?” 

“I do.” 

“Then you must know that there are plenty of angels who belong in the brig along with the worst of us.” 

Ryan’s first thought is Kelsey Impicciche, and his second thought is, 

“I do. And I just might be among them.” 

“Never,” Shane tells him, as fierce as Ryan’s certainty that he could find salvation. “Never, ever, ever, Ryan Bergara. You deserve Heaven more than any other angel on the block. Even more than Steven Lim.” 

“No one deserves Heaven more than Steven Lim,” Ryan disagrees, but he can’t hide the warmth that colors his tone or the tips of his ears at Shane’s declaration. “No one deserves it less than someone who lets Steven Lim be torn apart piece by piece.” 

Shane’s thumbs slide across the hard edge of his knuckles, forcing that warmth onto the apples of Ryan’s cheeks. “You said it yourself: you’re the one who has been fighting the hardest to keep this trial from killing Andrew and Steven. You deserve nothing but Heaven.” 

Ryan closes his eyes again, longer than before. “This trial has shown me many things about myself, and Heaven and Hell. I’m flattered that you think that I deserve Heaven after everything that I’ve done and failed to do. And I know it sounds hypocritical, given that I just told you that I believe you could go to Heaven someday if you tried, but I can’t help but feel like I deserve nothing but the Hounds after everything that’s happened.” 

He opens his eyes, and Shane’s striking beauty cuts him anew, more than his barbed edges ever could. “I can’t help but feel like I deserve nothing but the Hounds after realizing everything that I would do differently if I could.” 

Shane starts to say something, and then stops, like he can’t let himself form the words to say out loud. Ryan watches him think, eyes drawn helplessly to the red of Shane’s mouth and the way it tries to give up something without giving up everything. 

And then Shane suddenly hunches over the table, puts himself as close to Ryan as he can and holds onto his hands painfully. 

“Would you do it too?”

Ryan leans into him. “Do what?” 

“What Andrew and Steven did,” Shane clarifies, words strained. “Would you ever leave everything behind and  _ run?” _

Much like their almost-confession, this is the closest Ryan has ever come to saying out loud his deepest, darkest desire, his most condemning truth of all, to the person he would make it become true for. It’s almost too much to admit to, too much of himself to give away. He would rather give away every truth about belonging in Hell than ever give away the truth that Shane could make Ryan abandon himself with a single word. 

But then he thinks of Shane’s horrible truth, of his confession for feeling love more than anything; a truth that would kill a lesser demon. He thinks of Shane’s horrible truth and the way their intertwined hands make his thousand-year-old vessel sing, and he decides that if he doesn’t say it now, he’ll never say it, and it will be one more thing he’ll take to his grave. 

Ryan breathes deeply and lifts his chin again, trying to look brave when all he feels is a rush of blood to his head. 

“Yes, I would.” At Shane’s amazed look, at his pure, naked surprise, Ryan presses forward. “I might not have one hundred years ago, or even ten. It took me almost my entire life to realize that sometimes a golden cage is still just a cage. But eventually I knew for certain, even before this trial, that if it came down to it I would leave. I would run if I needed to.” 

It takes Shane a few times to speak over his shock. “What do you mean by ‘needed to’?” 

There’s something about the way he says it that almost sparks hope in Ryan’s chest, but he stamps it out as soon as it ignites. Shane confessing he can still feel love is a far cry from Shane confessing that he would flee Hell to let Ryan love him, and love him in return. 

But he can’t help but be completely honest when he says: “If I was given a good reason to.” 

He holds his breath and waits for Shane to say something back, for him to give Ryan a reason to let this hope grow inside of his broken-open chest. The look Shane sends him, across this table and across the other end of their respective worlds, is as fragile and volatile as a volcano ready to erupt and destroy everything in its wake. He looks at Ryan like Ryan already destroyed everything Shane possesses. 

He waits, and waits, and waits, but Shane doesn’t say another word. He looks over at Ryan with this expression of so much emotion that Ryan can’t pick out from another, but he doesn’t respond. Eventually, Ryan stops waiting for him to reply and just gives Shane one more tight, pained smile and untangles their hands from each other, feeling too full and too empty all at once. He lets his thumbs run over Shane’s beautiful, scarred knuckles just once, a returning caress, and then he lets him go. 

Shane’s fingers spasm when Ryan pulls away, like he’s going to reach out and cling to him again, but Ryan doesn’t give him the chance. They laid their worst secrets out for each other and it still wasn’t enough, will probably never be enough, and he can only take so much hope and so much desolation at one time. Ryan prays that when he reaches up to brush a tear off of his cheek, one that he can’t immediately quell like the others, Shane thinks nothing of it, the same that he thinks nothing of the ruinous mess of Ryan’s love for him. 

They sit in a new, melancholy silence while Curly and Daysha sing away, now onto ‘Tainted Love’ by Soft Cell. Ryan doesn’t dare look over at Shane again, and instead works on putting himself back together. He knows if he turns to him, he’ll crumple immediately and admit all of his other truths. The truths that will drive Shane Madej away from him forever. Shane similarly doesn’t try to finish their conversation or start a new one, content to put himself back together and keep Ryan from prying another confession out of him. 

Ryan doesn’t know how he can possibly live the rest of his immortal years now that he knows what it’s like to press his palm to Shane’s, and see the bareness of his deepest truths. He doesn’t know how he’ll survive without ever touching Shane’s skin again, but he knows that he’ll have to or he’ll go mad from the longing and the wanting. 

They sit together without saying another word for almost twenty minutes before Curly and Daysha call it quits. Their final song is another one from Queen (a very apt ‘The Show Must Go On’) and the bar patrons cheer and whistle loudly when they finally give their mics up to a tipsy couple. They clasp hands and bow deeply, letting the applause wash over them. The sight of their blinding smiles and flushed cheeks calms some of the storm in Ryan’s gut and he smiles back when Daysha seeks him out in the small crowd. 

Daysha nearly falls into his lap when she makes it back to the table and throws her arms around Ryan’s shoulders, squeezing him tightly. 

“I forgot how much I love to sing,” she gasps, and Ryan hears the distinct translation under her announcement, one that yells:  _ I miss being free.  _ “This place is the best. I’m definitely coming back when this trial is over and singing my heart out again.” 

“I hope that invitation extends to me,” Curly trills, coming up to Ryan’s other side. “You could make it solo, of course, but together we could rule the world. Or, at least, this stretch of South Broadway.” 

“Of course it does.” Daysha takes one arm off of Ryan’s shoulders and slings it around Curly’s side, pulling him into their little cluster. “And Ryan can even come on stage for one song. We’ll do ‘Fight For Your Right’ by The Beastie Boys.” 

“That’s horrible,” Ryan laughs, his first one in what feels like years. “I already told you that I’ll shatter bones if I sing into a microphone.” 

Curly gently pushes a hand through his hair. “Nah, you won’t. You have the voice of an angel.” 

Ryan rolls his eyes, but can’t seem to wipe the grin off of his face. “Ha ha. Very fucking clever.” 

“It was the truth.” Curly seems to take Shane in for the first, and Ryan doesn’t have time to tense up or think of an excuse for his presence before Curly asks him: “What about you, Tall Dark and Handsome? Do you sing?” 

Shane doesn’t miss a beat, even though he is still missing the usual predatory look in his eyes. “Do you value your eardrums?” 

“Damn. I know Tania’s got a nice voice—do you think, if I asked nicely, that she would consider joining us for a saucy rendition of ‘Misery Business’ by Paramore?” 

This forces a laugh out of Shane, too, the same delighted rumble that he released when he first sat down across from Ryan. Daysha makes a small noise into Ryan’s ear, one that he cannot help but echo back to her. 

“I think that would be such a scene that she’d have no choice but to say yes,” he admits, grinning widely. He flashes Curly a thumbs-up and gives him a wink, and even Curly seems a little starstruck by Shane’s unconcealed mirth. “You two were great together, though. It was an honor to be part of your crowd tonight.” 

Ryan feels rather than sees Curly and Daysha glance at each other, not sure whether to be suspicious or pleased by Shane’s compliment. In the end, they end up taking another half-bow together, and thank him for his kind words. Shane smiles so sweetly that it crinkles the worn skin around his eyes and the corners of his mouth and the longing and the wanting rise so desperately in Ryan that he almost flies across the table to kiss the corners of those eyes and that mouth. 

He’s incredibly grateful when Daysha releases a long breath and asks them all: “Ready to head back?” 

“We should,” Ryan makes himself agree, tearing his gaze away from Shane’s beautiful face. “We all need a little rest before tomorrow.” 

“Don’t remind me.” Curly whines, but there’s more to it than petulance. There’s his own deep, painful sense of longing and wanting; there’s his barely-disguised wound, created by Steven’s absence and Steven’s acquired wounds. “Let’s go now before I take that mic again and never let go.” 

Ryan and Shane get up from the table and follow Daysha and Curly to the entrance of the bar gate, slipping easily into the crowd of humans still hustling through L.A. at almost 1 A.M. Curly links his arm through Daysha’s and chats quietly with her as they make their way back to the parthenon. They laugh easily, swaying into each other and singing a few lines from their songs, and Ryan is more aware of the space between him and Shane than he has ever been before. They have to walk close together to stay on the sidewalk, and every few feet their hands brush together lightly, so lightly that Ryan wouldn’t have noticed with anyone else, so lightly that he can’t tell if it might be on purpose. He feels the eagerness to tangle their fingers together again like a bolt of lightning right to his sternum, feels the way it claws his insides up and sets them on fire all at once. 

He practically holds his breath all the way back to the parthenon, afraid that if he takes in the scent of the Los Angeles night, or the dark, sweet fragrance that follows Shane wherever he goes, he’ll do something he can never take back. He can feel Shane looking at him from out of the corner of his eyes, but he doesn’t let himself look back, doesn’t let himself be tempted by the Garden of Eden and the secrets buried in its soil. 

When they get back to the parthenon, Daysha sighs quietly, and Ryan watches the joy slowly drain out of her aura. It folds into itself, until there’s nothing left but a faint glimmer around the edges of her Form. It breaks Ryan’s heart to watch, and it makes a pulse of his long-living hatred for TJ Marchbank flood through his bruised body. 

“Let’s go on to bed,” Curly says, wilting along with her. “At least we got tonight to live a little.” 

“At least we got tonight,” Daysha agrees, terribly sad, and the two of them start the trek up to the front door. 

Ryan makes to follow after, gets a foot on the bottom step and lets his joy dissipate, when one of Shane’s big, warm hands closes around the crook of his elbow. The sensation of his fingers touching the soft skin there, just like he did in the garden so many weeks ago, makes Ryan’s heart stop and then thrash violently against the cage of his chest. 

He peers up at Shane, a question at the tip of his tongue. “Shane—?” 

Shane’s hand tightens on his elbow, and he uses the hold to draw Ryan to the edge of the steps, out of the streetlights and into the shadows. It’s so dark here that he almost can’t see Shane’s eyes, though they’re boring deeply into his own, and can barely make out the trembling of Shane’s lips. 

Ryan feels the longing and the wanting surge once more, so profoundly that it almost makes his knees buckle, unquestionably makes his voice shake when he says it again:  _ “Shane.”  _

“I would do it, too,” Shane whispers frantically, like he didn’t mean to say the words, but now that they’re out, he refuses to take them back. Wants Ryan to feel them as much as he hears them. “I’d leave and I’d never fucking look back. If I thought that I could make it, they’d never see me again.” 

This time, Ryan finds himself to be speechless. Finds himself unable to form any words in response to Shane’s ardent, furious confession and the frenzied look in his amber eyes. There are many things that Ryan has seen in Shane’s face over their thousand years together, but nothing like this; nothing so close to something that Ryan feels on a daily basis, nothing so close to something that has consumed Ryan since the moment he had a name for it. The longing to be free. The wanting to feel Shane’s skin under his calloused, crooked, lovely hands. 

At his silence, Shane takes his other calloused, crooked, lovely hand and slides the rough, tender edges of his knuckles across Ryan’s jaw, a caress that will absolutely haunt him to his grave. 

“I would run if I thought I could make it,” Shane says again, the words full of yearning, and runs his thumb over Ryan’s cheek. “I would run until there was nowhere left for me to run, and then I would run some more. I’d run until I was able to find Light and let my love touch it for once without fear.” 

Both hands move suddenly and cradle Ryan’s stunned face in between them, like Shane is afraid that he’ll actually try to run. But before Ryan can placate him, or touch him back, Shane presses their foreheads together hard enough to sting, and then he moves away, back into the streetlights. He gives Ryan one last ragged look of longing and wanting, and then slips up the front steps of the parthenon without glancing back. 

Ryan stays outside for a few minutes, back pressed to the cool marble steps and his eyes closed tight. His head swims and swims, thinking about the feeling of Shane’s scarred knuckles on his jaw and the conviction with which he said his most damning truth. He has to breathe through the desire to kneel on the concrete and sob until his lungs give in; he has to breathe through the desire to follow Shane to his sleeping chamber and kiss him until Light consumes them both.

When he feels like he can go into the parthenon without losing his spinning head, he pushes himself off of the side of the steps and looks into the smoggy L.A. sky. 

“Steven,” he pleads, because he has always heard Ryan’s need for guidance more than God has. “If you can hear me, please give me strength. Give me the strength to hold on just a little bit longer.” 

He doesn’t know if it’s the strength to hold onto his overwhelming love for Shane Madej that he’s asking for, or if it’s the strength to make it through the rest of this trial, but either way, the thing he’s in need of most right now is Steven Lim and his beautiful, unconditional love for Ryan. 

Daysha is waiting for him when Ryan finally climbs the front steps and pushes his way inside the parthenon. She’s pacing by the entrance, but stops when he closes the door behind him; all it takes is one look at his wrecked face for her to appear at his side. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, taking his hands. “I was worried when you didn’t come in with us, and when Shane didn’t either…” 

He squeezes her hands, unendingly grateful for Daysha’s strength, as well. “I’m fine. We were just—finishing our conversation from the bar, when you two were singing. Nothing bad.” 

He wants to say  _ Nothing important  _ but he can’t bring himself to lie after being honest for so long with the person he’d never thought he could be honest with. Daysha, as always, seems to understand what he does and does not say, and gives him a loving smile. 

“As long as you’re okay,” she says, pulling Ryan closer. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” 

Ryan slumps against her as subtly as he can manage. “A tempting offer on all accounts.” 

“Shut up, Bergara.” 

Daysha half-carries Ryan up to their sleeping chambers, allowing him to tuck his side right into hers and find comfort in her Form. She doesn’t ask any more questions, and doesn’t demand to know what he and Shane have been talking about all night. She lets him hope and grieve and remains the unwavering pillar of support that she has been for him long before he deserved it, and has continued to be, though he may never deserve it. 

When she deposits Ryan at his sleeping chamber, he turns and embraces her tightly. 

“I hope you know that I love you. I love you so much I can hardly stand it sometimes.” 

“You too, Ryan. I’ll love you forever and always.” She makes sure that they’re looking at each other again when she tells him: “I’ll always love you, no matter what.” 

Ryan kisses her forehead, fighting back a surge of tears. “No matter what.” 

She wishes him a goodnight when Ryan finally lets her go, and then he slips into his sleeping chamber, head a roar of missing Steven, loving Daysha, and replaying the sensation of Shane running his knuckles along Ryan’s jaw over and over and over again. He doesn’t need to, but he lets himself fall asleep for a few hours, hoping to find some sort of rest. Instead, he dreams vividly of running down a barren dirt road and then running into Shane’s arms, dreams of being free with him along an abandoned highway in Wasteland, Michigan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okie dokie folks!!!!! there is ch4!!!!!!!! again i'm so so sorry about the wait but i hope that it was worth it or made you excited for the remaining chapters :"))))) i love to write pining so much lmfao i hope you can tell how much i love the drama and the angst of maybe-unrequited love. ch5 will hopefully be up soon but i really don't have an exact estimate, so thank you once again for hanging out and being patient w me ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ 
> 
> also i know that no one asked but i wanted to tell yall that i've listened almost exclusively to the potc: the curse of the black pearl soundtrack while editing this fic and this has been a Good Choice because it really do be setting A Tone for this fic 
> 
> pls feel free to follow anon's footsteps and scream at me on [tumblr](http://bodhirookes.tumblr.com/ask) for breaking my upload vows


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can we pretend that airplanessss in the night skyyy are like shootttingg starrsss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck yall i am soooooooo sorry that this took longer than anticipated!!!! in the few weeks between ch4 and ch5 i moved into my new apartment and took a weekend off to go up north to the sticks where there is 0 reception to unwind, and i just didn't feel like i was in the right mindset to edit this chapter and fix it up to something i would feel good about publishing, so i really am sorry about the wait, but i hope that you all enjoy this chapter!! i'm still unsure about it and how it fits with the others but my wonderful friend zero has been the best support system in the world w this fic and has encouraged me to take it at the pace/drama level that i want to, and even though this chapter is definitely dialled down in action, i really like how the emotional exploration came out. so i hope that you all enjoy it as well, and that you're ready for ch6 because that one is gonna be another doozy but in a good way hehe :^) one more huge shoutout to zero for being amazing and reaching out to me when i need it, for listening to my venting, and just being the cooliest person ever—i adore you!!!! and shoutout to the MULTIPLE GOD I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE I'M TYPING THAT WTF anons who came to holler at me on tumblr & leave sweet messages!!!! you fill me up with holy fire ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

TJ and Kelsey seem to be taking Ryan’s demand into real consideration, but he still holds his breath every time he sits down at the jury table. 

Everything about their decisions that was sudden, like a cobra striking, is now calculated and well thought out. Everything about their decisions that was hungry is now sedated, founded on logic rather than bloodlust. They look before leaping, and they hold their interrogators back, and Ryan is so relieved by the change of heart that he doesn’t let himself believe it’s actually happening. He doesn’t let himself relax, because as soon as he does, that’s when they’ll send the Hounds in for the kill. 

He finds himself watching TJ more than the telecast. Much like his trial techniques, TJ’s expressions lose their violent edge for the most part and what’s left behind is a surprising amount of non-threatening strategy. If Ryan were younger, or remotely foolish, he would almost consider it to be benevolence that has caused the Greater demon to back down and rethink his violent edge. He knows, realistically, that all it really is is an attempt to keep the jury together long enough to conclude the trial, or at least long enough to make that final shot at Steven and Andrew. 

Ryan wants to believe TJ and Kelsey have found their morals hidden somewhere deep inside of themselves, underneath the fires they’ve lived through and started alike. He wants to believe that, somewhere underneath all of that power and that endurance as two of the strongest beings in their respective domains, that they’re beginning to believe that another two of the strongest beings in their respective domains deserve love more than they’ll ever deserve Hell. He wants to believe that TJ and Kelsey are starting to realize that there are worse things to bestow upon someone than forgiveness and love.

He wants to believe that everyone is starting to remember that they were all human once, and being human doesn’t just go away once you become something more. 

One of these nights, Steven and Andrew are just creeping over the border between Rhode Island and Massachusetts when a thunderstorm starts up, so heavy and chaotic that it forces Andrew to pull the car over to the side of the road to wait it out. During any other time in the past, this would be the opportune moment for Kelsey to send an Archangel to punch through the windshield, or for TJ to send a lower-level Greater demon to flip their car into the ditch. Ryan tenses for it like he’s tensing for a blow, shoulders pulling up around his ears, but the execution of some terrible ‘punishment’ never comes. Instead of sending an Archangel or a Greater demon to them, or anyone in between, TJ and Kelsey make a small note of where they think Steven and Andrew will stop for the night, and nothing more. Even after the rain dies down and Andrew guides the car back onto the empty highway, Ryan keeps staring at TJ, nails digging into his palms. It takes Jen knocking their knees together under the table to get him to relax, to stop being so obvious about his lingering mistrust. 

It keeps happening as the days pass after Steven and Andrew almost die and Ryan almost goes along with them. There will be clear pauses in their route or perfect opportunities for an ambush that TJ and Kelsey usually wouldn’t hesitate to use to their advantage, but whenever they arise, the two of them just discuss the pros and cons of who or what to send after them and never act hastily. When they’re halfway through Rhode Island, Andrew convinces Steven to take a stroll through town with him despite all of their previous bad endings doing this. Ryan, as usual, waits for TJ and Kelsey to send someone after them to shake things up, but instead Kelsey hums and says to TJ: 

“Steven is exhausted from driving all day. If I send Selorm to try and talk to him about preserving Heaven’s stability again, he might get cranky.” 

“Cranky?” TJ snorts, but doesn’t disagree. “Yeah, Ilnyckyj will probably take the grunt I was thinking of sending up and throw her clean through the water tower, and then the entire town would be fucked.” 

“Should we send a Dreamer now, maybe to influence the scene but not make one?” 

“Nah. Like you said, Lim is exhausted from driving all day today and sending a Dreamer up to them will result in him hallucinating or causing a ruckus on Main Street.” TJ watches the two of them duck into a corner store together, Andrew intent on getting them ice cream cones and Steven cheering him on in their glamour bubble. “Let’s just wait until morning and send Selorm to try her hand at talking some sense into Steven then. And maybe Andrew.” 

“Sure. Sounds good.” 

Ryan still can’t let himself believe that Kelsey and TJ have had a joint change of heart, that they’re ready to let the trial continue on a more peaceful note. Even as they continue to let Steven and Andrew crawl up towards the tip of the east coast, and let them go to their motel rooms at dusk without a scrape or a bloody nose in sight, he can’t let himself relax. Time and time again, TJ and Kelsey prove him wrong, and time and time again, fear worries a hole through Ryan’s stomach that leaves him keyed up all day and all night. 

He especially can’t believe it when Steven convinces Andrew to stop at a beach one afternoon, and TJ sends a Greater demon after them, but he doesn’t start a brawl. Steven is splashing around in the water and Andrew is sitting in the sand, watching and smiling fondly, when Chris Reinacher takes a seat next to him. 

Andrew’s smile fades, but he doesn’t look away from the ocean when he drawls: “Well, this is a surprise.” 

“Oh, is it?” 

“What I meant,” Andrew clarifies, “is that I’m surprised it took them this long to send you after me.” 

“I got held up on a job.” 

“Darragh take you under her wing, then? I’ve been waiting for that to happen for years.” 

Chris laughs a little, his usual combination of sarcasm and genuine amusement. “Nah, that was never in the cards, unfortunately. She’s really into billionaires and mob bosses. I’m into CEOs and politicians. And she’s into luring her targets to our side, whereas I’m more into pre-tormenting them before they get to us Downstairs after making their own decisions of their own free will.” 

“I’m aware.” Andrew shifts in a way that makes him appear relaxed, but is actually him getting ready for a physical altercation. “You’re both good with your words and what they influence people to do. Is that why they sent you now, after everything that’s happened?” 

Chris doesn’t reply right away, instead choosing to also stare out at a still-oblivious Steven. Andrew stiffens as the silence stretches on, jaw clenching dangerously, hands fisting into the material of his shorts, and Ryan thinks he’s just going to swing before letting Chris say another word when Chris finally sighs and admits: 

“Yeah, they sent me to talk some sense into you. Figured that if I could get a white-collar Christian to cheat on his wife, I could get you to stop running away and come home.” 

“You’re wasting your time. Hell hasn’t been my home since the first time Steven told me he loved me. I already told those crossroad fuckers and their dogs that you’ll have to kill me before I come back.” 

There’s another pause between them, and when Chris speaks again, his voice is small, almost flat. “I know.” 

Andrew turns to him, surprised. Chris stares at Steven for another beat, two beats, before turning to face Andrew as well, looking resigned and very unlike himself. 

“You know?” Andrew asks, disbelieving through and through. “Reinacher, don’t fuck with me, man. Not now. I might be the weakest I’ve ever been, but I could still tear you to pieces without lifting a finger.” 

“They sent me because they thought I could talk some sense into you. I never told them I would try. I just left and let them assume.” Andrew continues to stare at him, and Chris sighs again, a little humor coming back into his face. “I knew as soon as you left that that was that. You were never coming back unless Marchbank sent the Hounds to drag you back. We all obviously see how that went.” 

“I was ready to give up everything for Steven, and those fucking Hounds almost took it, but then he saved me. He saved both of our lives. If you don’t think that I’m infinitely more devoted to him after that, then you’re all more hopeless Downstairs than I thought.” 

Chris reaches up to flick Andrew on the forehead. “Hey, didn’t you hear what I said? I already knew that as soon as you left, and long before that, Ilnyckyj. There’s no need to get sassy with me.” 

_ “So _ sorry. I haven’t exactly come across a demon that wants to be my friend lately, so you’ll have to forgive my suspicion.” 

“Andrew—” Chris starts, and then laughs again, exasperated. “You really think that they can tell me what the fuck to do? I’m not going to sit here and try and tell you to come crawling back without your One True Love. I know you better than that, and you know me better than that.”

Andrew seems to take this in, and then he asks, “Why are you  _ here _ then, Chris?” 

Chris reaches out and pushes Andrew’s shoulder this time, grinning crookedly. “I came here to give you my Blessing. My one and only.” 

“Your Blessing?” Andrew makes sure that they’re looking each other dead in the eyes when he continues. “Are you telling me that you’re okay with this? With me ditching you all for a new life with Steven?”

“Even if I wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. You’ve clearly felt this way for a long time, probably much longer than when I actually started to notice the way you felt about him. Nothing I say or do will change your mind, and nothing anyone else says or does will change your mind, either. I was upset about it at first, but during the centuries it took you to cowboy up and tell Steven, I got used to it. To the idea of you leaving. And I know now that it’s your path to walk, and that you will take anything blocking that path down without hesitation.” 

Andrew stares at him, amazed, and Chris says: “I don’t want to be another thing standing in your way. All the shit you’ve seen and done, you deserve to have this. And I’m always going to love you more than the hierarchy Downstairs. If you’re happy with him, then I’m happy for you. Simple as that.” 

Chris starts when Andrew reaches for him after this declaration, but Andrew doesn’t punch him; instead, he wraps his arms around Chris and hugs him, eyes slamming shut. 

“Thank you,” Andrew gasps, when Chris hugs him back.  _ “Fucking Hell _ it’s been killing me, thinking that I hurt you all even though I know it was the right thing for me to do.” 

Chris’ eyes get a little teary, too. “All of the grunts and the Dreamers are making a ruckus, but most of us Greaters understand why you did it. We don’t hate you, dude. We see how happy Steven Lim makes you, and we’re willing to give you up if you can keep him with you. You deserve it, and he deserves it. All the shits in Hell who are upset are just fuckin’ jealous you found a way out, and a reason to stay away.” 

Andrew leans back enough to look at him again and clasp one hand to Chris’ neck, holding him steady, or maybe himself. “Someday, you’ll get out too. Or they’ll learn to loosen the reins to keep us all from disappearing forever. They won’t have any Greaters left if they don’t.” 

Chris agrees, “Someday, something will give,” and they embrace each other for another long, aching moment. 

After they let go of each other and Andrew makes a motion to Steven, who has finally noticed Chris’ presence, to let him know all is okay, they talk. Their eased conversation loosens a knot in Andrew’s shoulders that’s been there since the trial started, that’s persisted no matter how wonderful being with Steven has made him feel. Ryan has been learning that the demons are no different from the angels when it comes to loving their brethren, but seeing it on the telecast, seeing Andrew come truly alive for the first time in almost seven months hearing that the demons still love him, hits him right in the sternum. He feels a little afloat with the weight of Chris’ love for Andrew, and Andrew’s love for him. 

When he glances up from the telecast, to where TJ is watching them talk to each other, Ryan is floored to see a mostly-hidden-but-not-quite hint of compassion on his face. It’s the only time he’s let himself be anything other than cruel or apathetic the entire trial, besides when Ryan blew up at him. It makes something just as cruel rise within Ryan, something that he would classify as hope if he let himself entertain the idea for even half of a moment. 

He’s not the only one who sees it, or feels it, apparently. After they’re dismissed for the day, Daysha trails Ryan to the door of his sleeping chamber. When they step into his room, and he waits to see what she’ll say, Daysha looks at him with so much of this cruel hope that it knocks the breath from his lungs. 

“Daysha,” he whispers, “don’t—” 

“You saw what happened after Andrew and Chris started catching up,” she interrupts. “You saw his face, Ryan. He’s giving into them. He’s giving into it just like all the other Greaters are giving into it.” 

“We can’t possibly know that.” 

“Yes we can! You _ saw his face.  _ He loves Andrew just as much as the rest of them do. He wants to let him be happy, somewhere deep, deep down inside of his wretched, terrible heart.” 

“He almost killed Andrew,” Ryan reminds her, voice shaking. “He almost killed them both. You can’t ever come back from that.” 

Daysha reaches up to cup his face. “He’ll have to repent for the rest of his existence, and it will never completely disappear from any of our memories. I understand and I agree. But I think that TJ is starting to realize that he can’t destroy them, no matter how hard he tries, and now he wants to see what will happen if he lets them be. He wants to see what could happen if he lets Andrew be happy.” 

Ryan feels like if she presses down any harder on him, with her hands or her eyes or her words, that he’ll unravel completely and never fit back together again. He says her name again, unable to say anything else. “Daysha.” 

“He’s going to let them be together,” she says with conviction, with absolute certainty. “He’s going to let them be together, and then you—” 

“Don’t,” he pleads, trying to pull back. “Don’t say it. I can’t bear the thought of you saying it and never being able to have it.” 

She tightens her hold so that Ryan can’t jerk away, so that he can’t do anything but look into her determined eyes. “He’s going to let them be together, Ryan, and then he’s going to let you be with Shane Madej. He’s going to let Shane Madej be happy after all of these hundreds and hundreds of years of misery and torment.” 

Ryan’s throat works around a hot wash of tears, around a loud, broken sob of heartache and longing.  _ “Daysha. _ Don’t give me hope.” 

“Marchbank is the one giving you hope. I saw all I needed to know on that miserable face of his. He loves Andrew enough to let him be happy. He loves Andrew enough to give this useless trial up soon enough. Just be patient and it will happen, I promise you.” 

“I’ve been patient since the Dark Ages. I’ve been in love with him longer than I haven’t. I think I can continue to smother my hope to the best of my abilities.” 

“Don’t smother it,” Daysha says softly. “Don’t try to snuff it out. Just keep it at bay and wait for TJ to give in. It’ll be any day now.” 

He closes his eyes. “I can’t hope too much or it’ll ruin me. If I let myself believe it could work and he takes it away from me again, it’ll fucking kill me.” 

“He’ll give in.” Daysha holds him tenderly, so sweetly that it forces a few tears from Ryan’s tired eyes. “He’ll give in or I’ll kill  _ him.”  _

Ryan can’t help but silently agree, silently vow to avenge Steven and Andrew’s freedom and his own if they are both set aflame by TJ Marchbank and his barren wasteland core.

**_~.~.~_ **

He continues to go to the council chamber every day with his hands curled into fists and apprehension at the forefront of his emotional state. They’ve been fighting tooth and nail through daily jury sessions for seven long, grueling months, and he has seen Steven and Andrew wounded more times than he cares to count, and he refuses to believe that it could all end without both of them dying or being forcefully dragged down to Hell. Even though it’s all he’s been praying fervently for these many weeks, he can’t believe that the trial could ever end any other way except in excruciating pain. 

Even as Steven and Andrew continue at a less harried pace up to the edge of the United States. Even as TJ and Kelsey let them continue up to the edge of the United States. Even as TJ and Kelsey both start to soften, and shed the remaining dredges of ferocity. 

He sits in his chair at the table, back pulled taunt like the string on a bow, all of his rage and terror a poisoned arrow pointed at TJ’s heart and ready to strike. Daysha’s promise does nothing to quell the anxiety always pulsing throughout him, like a throbbing bruise, and neither does the barely concealed glances that Shane keeps sending him across the room. Ryan hasn’t let himself get within touching distance of him since a few nights ago, when Ryan thought he would go mad with the gnawing desire to kiss Shane Madej and slip away into the night together. He’s afraid that if he touches Shane’s skin again, he’ll never be able to live without it; he’s afraid that if he walks too close to the edge that he’ll fall off and keep falling for the rest of his existence. 

He torments himself at night about all six of them; torments himself about Steven and Andrew and their combined Fates; torments himself about TJ and Kelsey and how they may very well have the key to everyone’s Fate at the table; torments himself about Daysha and how deeply he has affected her with his inability to keep it together anymore; torments himself about giving all five of them up for Shane Madej in a split second, and giving up none of them for Shane Madej. 

The waiting and the agony eat him alive for days and days, and the knowledge that this trial can’t end in anything except complete devastation. Every time that TJ sends a demon up to talk to Andrew, and every time that Kelsey sends an angel, Ryan's stomach gives out and then rebuilds itself anew. Every time that they make it to their motel room without a knife in their backs or a Hellhound’s jaws fastened around their throats, it takes him the rest of the night to start breathing properly again. Ryan doesn’t think he can handle it for much longer, despite whatever the outcome of this jury is. He feels like his skin is being pulled as tight as it can go over his Form, and then tighter still. He feels like he might burst at the seams and flood the entire parthenon with anguish. 

And then as soon as Andrew drives Steven and himself over the Maine state lines, Kelsey gets up from her seat, rounds to the front of the jury table, and brings it all to a standstill. 

“If I could have your attention, please.” 

The rest of the jury look up at her request, weary but curious. Ryan looks up at her the same way Shane looked at him across the table at the restaurant: like he’s looking directly into his grave. 

Once all eyes are on her, Kelsey clears her throat and announces: “We’re going to be ending this trial soon.” 

She is met by complete and utter silence. Ryan has been dying for this day to come, and now that it will be upon them soon, he doesn’t know what to feel first. Relief. Horror. Anger. Longing, longing, longing. He can’t quite believe, despite all of the desire for the trial to end, and despite TJ and Kelsey’s calmed bloodlust, that it really could all end in the foreseeable future. That he’ll be able to finally get out of this Goddamned parthenon and lick his wounds in peace. 

His first instinct, as always, is to look at Shane. But before he can meet his eyes, share another look of hollowed-out hope, he feels someone grab his hand tightly underneath the table. His eyes skip to Daysha, who has not turned away from Kelsey, but whose warm, strong hand is clenched around Ryan’s. He squeezes back, the Light inside of him mixing with hers and alleviating some of the tension in his bones. 

The first person to find their voice again is Adam Bianchi, who lets hope bleed into his face for the first time ever. “When?” 

Kelsey considers for a moment, and then tells him, “We need a few more days to be sure. But they probably won’t leave Maine before it’s done.” 

_ A few days.  _ Ryan thinks he would be crying if he could feel anything other than shock. 

This awakens a few more people at the table, and then a few more, until almost all of them are muttering to each other or sighing in relief or saying Steven and Andrew’s names reverently. 

TJ uses this as his cue to speak up as well. “Three days maximum, but hopefully just two. This trial has gone on for long enough. We’ve seen what we need to see.” 

“Why now?” Quinta asks, tentative in a way she never is, like she’s afraid he’ll change his mind if the question sounds accusatory. “Why after everything else that has happened with them?” 

At this, TJ turns and looks directly at Ryan. He’s smirking, just like always, but he also looks worn down and the slightest amount regretful. It rocks Ryan to his core, and he almost misses it when TJ says: “Consider it a change of heart.” 

Ryan is also afraid to say anything and shatter this dream come true, say anything that could make TJ and Kelsey take it all back. But it comes out just the same, as if the nearly-disguised ache in TJ’s eyes and the feeling of Daysha’s hand in his forces the words from his sternum and into the council chamber. 

“A change of heart,” Ryan breathes, clinging to Daysha so tightly it must hurt. “Does that mean you’ll let them stay together?” 

TJ regards him for several seconds, neither agreeing to nor denying this question. Before the night Steven and Andrew almost died, Ryan would have lashed out to get his answer, but now he sits and looks back, begging for TJ to say yes, yes they’re going to let them be with each other and end this horrible trial once and for all. 

“We weren’t going to,” TJ eventually replies, honest and deeply tired. “We were never even going to entertain the idea of letting an angel and a demon stay together, let alone Steven Lim and Andrew Ilnyckyj. Individually, they could cause irreparable damage to Heaven and Hell. Together, if they wanted to, they could destroy everything in Heaven, and Hell, and whatever lies between and underneath. We didn’t think it could bring anything but destruction and utter chaos.”

Ryan feels like he might faint. “And now?” 

TJ smiles, a dark, rueful thing. “And now, I’m starting to think that we’ll bring those upon ourselves if we try to keep them apart from each other. There’s no way our worlds could survive if we forbade them from being together. They would just destroy our worlds and leave the carnage behind as retribution.” 

There’s another stretch of stunned silence, and then TJ says to Ryan: 

“I also have no doubt that you would be the first in line to help them destroy the worlds if it came down to that. And that antagonizing you further would bring a worse chaos than Steven and Andrew trying to stay together. It just isn’t worth it at this point. I can admit now that I’m mildly afraid of getting on your bad side again, Bergara—you would make a fantastic Greater demon with all of that fucking rage inside of you. Right next to the Horsemen.” 

He opens and closes his mouth several times, trying to think of something to say. The list of responses range from that exact type of rage TJ referenced to, demanding to know why they couldn’t have ended the trial weeks ago, why it was even needed in the first place, to revulsion at the thought of becoming a Greater demon, to agreeing that he would be the most vicious Greater demon that Hell ever housed. His brain whirls and whirls while everyone at the jury table stares at him and TJ, and then it comes a screeching halt on the only thing he can make himself say. 

“Thank you.” 

It covers all the bases, between them letting Steven and Andrew be together, letting them come home, and TJ’s acknowledgement of Ryan’s Hellish nature underneath his Holiness. TJ seems to hear everything this one ‘Thank you’ surmises, and he tilts his head at Ryan, this time both a submission and an acknowledgement. 

The jury lets this mood of homesickness and relief marinate for a few more moments, lets it fill them all up and chase out the grief. And then, when it seems like they cannot be filled with more heartache and joy without bursting, Sara lets out an ungodly snort and says, “I can’t believe you said ‘change of heart’ just now, boss. You don’t even have a heart anymore.” 

“And you before not fucking forget it, Rubin,” TJ snarls, the blaze returning to his black, black eyes, and the demons all start laughing. It’s a bizarre sight, and it makes the angels all laugh, too, albeit much quieter. 

Ryan is so relieved by this turn of events that he can’t laugh, can’t even make himself smile. Instead, he clutches Daysha’s hand under the table, takes deep, measured breaths, and focuses on not bursting into loud, overwhelmed tears. 

He does manage to catch Shane’s eyes, though, when he finally looks away from TJ and Kelsey. They’re full of so much emotion, ones that he rarely ever lets anyone see, that Ryan can’t look for too long without fear of losing it. He stares back long enough to see the relief, the overwhelming joy, and the beautiful, beautiful glimmer of hope, and then he closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing some more. The sound of laughter and the sweet, gentle tendril of glamour that presses up against his sternum makes him feel tethered to reality for the first time since he entered the parthenon to begin Steven and Andrew’s trial.

**_~.~.~_ **

The following night, after their session concludes and Kelsey dismisses them, Ryan slips away from the groups going to their sleeping chambers or out onto the town and heads to the roof of the parthenon. 

He hasn’t gone up there thus far, too afraid that if he did, he would be too tempted to flee back to Heaven and never return to the council chamber again. But now that they’re nearly done, that they’re hours away from being free, he lets himself sneak up there to be alone with his thoughts. 

It’s another of Los Angeles’ balmy summer nights, and Ryan can still feel the heat of the sun on the stone roof when he sits down. He pushes his palms against it, chasing after that warmth, and leans back on them to stare up at the sky. 

This is how Jen finds him, after the stars have shifted a few places over and he’s watched an endless amount of angels beam to and from Heaven. He hears the door creak open, and then a set of soft footsteps, and knows without even looking up who it is. She says nothing at first, content to curl up next to him on the roof and watch more angels streak across the night sky. They’re sitting close enough together that they knock shoulders every now and then, and when he notices that Jen may be doing it on purpose, he smiles to himself. 

After the stars have moved a little more, and Ryan has knocked their shoulders together too, Jen quietly asks: 

“What will you do first?” 

“When we’re free?” He sees her nod out of the corner of his eye, and sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s wrong, but I kind of want to take a break. I think if I just jump back into things I’ll get burned out and cause a scene.” 

“You? Causing a scene? Never, Bergara.” 

He laughs under his breath. “Fuck you. I did what had to be done.” 

When Jen pushes their shoulders together again this time, she leaves them there. “Yeah, I know you did. I’m sorry that it had to come to that.” 

“I knew it would eventually,” Ryan says, the smile sliding off of his face. “I knew something would have to give eventually as soon as this trial started. It was just a matter of who and when.” 

Jen turns to look at him. “I always knew it would be you. You’re the bravest of us. The one who would give up everything for what’s right.” 

“We’re all like that. We just show it in different ways.” Ryan turns to look at her, too, taking comfort in the familiar slopes of her face and the gentleness of her eyes. “And I wouldn’t exactly call my meltdown brave. If anything, the lengths I would go to protect my family could probably be better classified as reckless and tragic. It only ever ends in destruction.” 

“Not this time,” she reminds him. “You heard TJ—he changed his opinion on the whole trial because of you.” 

“Because I threatened to destroy myself in order to sever my oath to the jury. Or run with Steven and Andrew. He changed his mind so that I wouldn’t incite anarchy.” 

Jen presses closer, giving him the same proud, furious look Daysha when she told Ryan that he might get to have his deepest, darkest desire after all. 

“He changed his mind because you’re right, and you were brave enough to say so. The rest of us have been too afraid to say anything in case it made TJ send more Hounds after them, but you stood your ground and now he’s pulling back. He’s going to let them stay together, Ryan, because you made him see that they should be able to be together.” 

Ryan can’t think about it for too long or he’ll start crying and never stop. “Maybe so. Regardless of what I have and haven’t done, I’m just glad it’s almost over.” 

“So what are you gonna do when it is?” Jen asks again. 

He pauses, pretending to think; he already knows what the answer is, has known what he would do the second the trial ends for weeks, but he doesn’t want to make his yearning to escape so obvious. 

“I’m going to go for a drive,” is what he eventually tells her, turning back to the sky. “Maybe I’ll take the same route as them, and just drive and drive until I run out of road.” 

“Where will you go?” 

“The Midwest.” Ryan can see it in his mind, the same as he saw it on the telecast: an endless stretch of empty backroads, towering trees blooming with life, glittering lakes and gorgeous, bloody sunsets sinking into them. Nothing but the Earth and his own thoughts to keep him occupied. No room left for celestial politics. “It’s perfectly empty and full at the same time. I’d give anything to disappear into the Upper Peninsula for a few years.” 

“I’m sure they can lose you for a few years if it helps to keep you for the rest of time.” 

“I’m going whether they want me to or not. The Hounds can chase me around Indiana and Ohio, and I’ll just keep running until they tear my legs off.” Ryan can already smell the clean, free air of the Midwest, can feel the wind rolling across his skin, can hear the sound of a car rumbling down an abandoned highway over the sound of classic rock. “It’s almost unbearable, knowing that we’re so close to being done but I can’t leave right this second. I never want to see the inside of that damn council chamber again, so long as I live.” 

“We can do it,” Jen assures him. “They’re thinking about calling Steven and Andrew back tomorrow. We just have to call them back, tell them the verdict, and then it’ll all be over.” 

“It’ll all be over.” Ryan repeats, the words striking a chord within him. 

“What will you say to him? When he comes back? I don’t know if I’ll even be able to say anything, I might just cling to him and never let go again.” 

“Me too.” He does think about it, though, but stops when the mental image of Steven Lim brings another round of tears to his eyes. “I’m just gonna tell him I love him, and that even if I never see him again, at least I’ll know that he’s happy and safe with Andrew. That’s all I’ll ever need to know.” 

Jen nods again. “As soon as I get to see him for a few minutes and tell him I love him, it’ll almost make this trial worth it.”

“I don’t know about that. This trial was… brutal.” 

The single word, the way Ryan’s voice breaks around ‘brutal’ tells Jen everything she needs to know. She presses their shoulders together even more, and even takes the hand closest to hers, squeezing tightly. 

“I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for you,” she says, and Ryan knows that she is not really talking about watching Steven be hunted. “I hope you can take the time you need to recover from this.” 

“I don’t know if I ever will, Jen. This trial—this whole piece of shit trial broke me in ways I didn’t even know I could be broken. It’s going to take me the rest of my existence to heal the wound it opened, and even then I don’t think it’ll ever really disappear. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to close my eyes again without seeing that Hellhound’s claws in Andrew’s back. I’ll never be able to forget the sound of Steven sobbing afterwards.” 

Jen says nothing else for a long moment, considering Ryan’s words and everything they do and don’t say. Ryan focuses on the streaks of angels flying to and from Heaven, and doesn’t let himself think about seeing Steven for the first time in half a year. 

“Maybe,” she finally starts, tone careful, “you don’t have to let it be a wound.”

“How can it ever be anything but that?” 

“It will take decades to forget the crossroad, and just about everything else,” Jen acknowledges, squeezing his hand again. “But they won, Ryan. They get to be together and keep their ranks. They lost these seven months, but they don’t have to lose anything else. Maybe you don’t either.” 

He hesitates, and then he speaks his truth. “He was never mine to lose in the first place. He’ll  _ never _ be mine to lose.” 

“I’m not talking about Steven.” 

“I’m not either.” 

“That’s bullshit, Bergara, and you know it. The only person he’s  _ ever _ belonged to is you.” 

Ryan shakes his head, wishing desperately for her to be right. “I would give anything for what Steven and Andrew have. I would give up anything for him, just as Steven and Andrew would give up anything for each other, but I don’t think he would do the same for me. I can’t ever imagine him doing anything except leaving me to crawl back to Heaven as soon as he’s gotten what he wants.” 

“How do you know for sure? If you asked, you might be surprised by the answer.” 

“He already told me so. I asked him if he’s ever loved anyone, and he in turn told me that he would never let love turn him into a fool. That he would rather be empty and mangled than love someone the way Andrew loves Steven, loves him enough to leave Hell forever.” Jen says nothing again, so Ryan continues. “I love all of you very much, down to my bones, and I carry a piece of every angel with me wherever I go. But I love Shane Madej down to my human remains, down to whatever I was made of Before and what I tried to hide when I became an angel After. I’ve spent a thousand years sanding down my jagged, mortal edges and making sure I stayed in line, but this trial threw it all away. Steven and Andrew unearthed all of the messy, hungry pieces I thought I had gotten rid of or smothered and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to hide them again.” 

“Ryan.” 

He shrugs, helpless. “I’ll never be able to hide it again, how terribly I love him. But if I can take a few years to screw my head back on, and then go back to work without room to think about it, maybe it’ll stop being so bright and painful someday.” 

Jen lets Ryan collect himself for a beat, and then pushes on. “I don’t care what you and Shane Madej tell each other, or me, for that matter. I don’t care what you’ve spent these past few centuries trying to trick yourself into believing. Now that Kelsey and TJ are going to let Steven and Andrew be together, there’s no way that Shane would say no if you asked him to be with you. Even something as old as him could never hide true love from anyone who knows how to look for it. He doesn’t have to lose anything else, either.” 

“I don’t think it’s possible for Shane to love me as much as I love him.” 

“He loved you first,” she says fiercely, so fiercely that Ryan almost has to believe her. “I saw it on him long before I saw it on you. He’s good at hiding it, but I could always tell. If you asked him to go, he would go. If you disappeared, he wouldn’t be able to rest until he found you again.” 

“That’s  _ impossible. _ I can’t imagine any creature in any plane of existence that is hungrier than I am.” 

“You can think whatever you want, but I’m speaking a truth that even you can’t change by will or willful ignorance. This entire trial proves that angels and demons can coexist without burning everything down with them. And if there are two beings who belong together as much as Steven and Andrew do, it is you and Shane. You can try and convince yourself otherwise all you’d like, but you know that I’m right, all the way down to those messy, hungry human remains of yours.” 

He’s so choked up by this proclamation that when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a strangled, pained noise. 

“You can have both,” she tells him, back to being gentle. “You can keep your sense of self while letting yourself feel whole again. You can have duty and love together without one cancelling the other out.” 

It takes him a few tries to speak. “You and Daysha keep giving me hope when I don’t know if there’s really any to be found. I can’t bear the thought of having it within my reach and then watching it turn to ash. It would destroy me, Jen.” 

“I know. That’s why I’m telling you anyway, because you could have it if you let yourself. All you have to do is let yourself have it, and ask him to do the same.” She looks down at their joined hands, and soothes her thumb over the scars on Ryan’s knuckles. “The worst of it is behind us. They’re ending the trial, and they’re letting Steven stay with Andrew. All you have to do now is let yourself reach out and take it, too.” 

“And what if I reach out and he lets me go?” Ryan swallows hard, past the lump that forms at just the thought of it all. “What if he lets me plummet right to Earth and it destroys every piece of my vessel and my Form?” 

“Then we’ll be there to help you stand back up,” she promises without hesitation. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore, with or without Shane Madej. If he lets you go, we’ll catch you.” 

“And if you don’t catch me?” 

Jen lets go of his hand so that she can wrap her strong arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. 

“Then we’ll help you put the pieces back together, stronger than they were before.” Jen puts her lips to Ryan’s temple, and the kiss she stamps there makes his vision go blurry with tears. “We’ll fall with you, and learn how to be stronger together.” 

Ryan turns his entire body towards hers and crushes her to him, not caring that she can both hear and feel him crying quietly. There are so many things about this night that feel impossible and terrible: seeing Steven again, losing Steven again, wanting to be with Shane, Shane wanting to be with him, never wanting Shane to know how easy it would be for him to get Ryan to leave and how easy it would be for him to shatter Ryan’s heart. There are so many enormous emotions and fears inside of him, so enormous that he can barely keep them all contained within the walls of his vessel. He feels like if he let himself do more than cry, if he let himself sprint out of L.A. or let himself scream, he’d never stop. 

There are so many things that Ryan has to fear, but there are also so many things that Ryan never has to fear, and they are these: the love and loyalty of all of his angels, who he loves down to his bones and who love him down to theirs. If there’s nothing he’ll ever have to doubt, it’s how easy it is for Jen to make him feel like he could do or be anything, the same way that Shane fucking Madej can be or do anything he wants simply because he is Shane fucking Madej. He is Ryan fucking Bergara, and with the force of Jen’s love for him, and the love he has from everyone else in Heaven, Ryan knows he absolutely could survive this kind of heartbreak if they were all there to help him pick up the pieces. 

“Do you think,” he asks Jen, voice wrecked, “that if I reached out, he would hold on?” 

Jen fits her hand around the back of Ryan’s skull, pulling him even closer. “If you reached out, he would never let you go again. He’d die before he had to give you up.” 

The words set fire to his insides, and even though tears continue to pour from his eyes, the fire takes them and turns them into starlight. For the first time since he met Shane, he lets himself begin to hope. 

“I need to see Steven first,” Ryan whispers, the beginnings of a wild grin taking over his face. “But maybe after. After I get to see that he survived, that Andrew didn’t let him fall.” 

Jen kisses his head again. “You both deserve a chance. Give it to yourself.” 

He doesn’t say  _ I will,  _ but he thinks it loudly, swears to himself and Shane that he’ll try to take that leap of faith. He’ll risk the fall if he could end up falling right into Shane’s rotten, mangled core and planting a garden there. 

Instead, he takes a deep, beautiful breath and says: “A chance is all I need.” 

**_~.~.~_ **

The next day is agony. 

Kelsey and TJ say nothing, but Ryan knows that Steven and Andrew are coming back today, one way or another. They say nothing, but Ryan knows that at the end of the session, Steven Lim will be in the same room as him again and he won’t be dead or ruined. He’ll be exhausted and traumatized, but he’ll be  _ alive,  _ and Ryan nearly bursts from his ceaseless need to see him whole and well again. 

He has to force himself to deep-breathe and watch as Steven drives them all the way from Bangor to Ashland, and then farther still to the very tip of Maine, to Madawaska. It’s hard to watch Steven and Andrew through the telecast, knowing that they’ll be in the council chamber soon enough; it’s harder yet to know that Kelsey and TJ will probably wait until they’re all the way to Madawaska before calling them back. 

Their bosses don’t end up sending any more angels or demons after them, have kept the trail silent and cold since Steven and Andrew got to Maine. Instead of scheming the best way to talk them out of being together, or at least convince the demon to leave the angel, they focus solely on Steven and Andrew’s behavior towards each other. On the easy way that Steven laughs at Andrew’s bad impressions of other Greater demons and snobby Archangels; on the easy way that Andrew pulls Steven in for a kiss when they get out of the car to switch sides for a while. 

Ryan can’t really see Kelsey’s face during these interactions without being obvious about it. But he can see TJ’s, and he’s floored once more by the softness he sees there, the softness he’s let himself feel for Steven and Andrew and their love for each other. He has longed to see this softness for days and weeks and months. Now the sight of it just makes his desperation worse, makes him feel like he could break apart at any given moment.

Halfway through the day, after their allotted break time, Daysha silently takes his hand under the table again. Ryan holds on like his Form will fly right out of his vessel if he doesn’t. Like he’ll be flung out to orbit and only Steven Lim’s warm hands and warm smile will ever be able to reel him back in. 

A long morning trickles into a long afternoon, which trickles into an even longer evening and then into the longest night of Ryan’s life. When the sun has been set for hours, and the moon is high in the sky like a spotlight, Andrew pulls their stolen car into the city of Madawaska, Maine. He takes them through the empty, dark roads to the nearest motel, and as soon as he parks in front of it, Kelsey’s head lifts from the telecast. Ryan is drawn to her instantly, no longer caring about making his stare too obvious, but her gaze fastens on TJ and doesn’t move. TJ looks back at her after a moment, also oblivious to Ryan’s intense staring, and Ryan isn’t sure if he’s grateful or if it makes him feel even more like he might turn inside out. 

They say nothing for a long moment, speaking only through their shared, heavy look and the slight turning of their heads. Ryan knows, distantly, that he’s crushing Daysha’s hand, but he can’t make himself relax any more than he can make himself look away from their bosses. He wants to know the exact moment they know that this whole thing is over. 

“Now,” Kelsey finally says, the monosyllable as steadfast as a gavel. “Before he checks them in and makes a scene.” 

TJ stares at her for another prolonged moment, and just when Ryan thinks he’s going to pull a hidden trigger, just when Ryan thinks he may burst from anxiety and rage, TJ nods. 

“Now.” 

Kelsey and TJ lay their palms flat on the jury table, and between one moment and the next, both of their Forms start to take over. Kelsey’s eyes go their brilliant white, and her Light begins to spear through the tips of her fingers and through her shoulder blades. TJ’s eyes go their bottomless black, and the smoky glamour of his Form curls out of his ears and the direct center of his solar plexus. They are individually summoning their underlings, a siren’s call that only the strongest angels and demons can fight without losing their hearing or heads. 

On the telecast, Steven has just shut the car door when the summonings hit both of them. He releases a surprised gasp, hand going to his forehead; Andrew, in turn, winces and pushes a fist into his sternum. 

“They’re calling us back,” Steven says unnecessarily, like he can’t quite believe it. “Fuck, what do we do?” 

Andrew steps closer to him, placing his other hand on Steven’s hip. “What do you think we  _ should _ do?” 

Kelsey and TJ ramp it up, just enough to make both Steven and Andrew groan in displeasure. Steven clenches his other hand around Andrew’s arm, as if Andrew is the only thing that could keep him from crumpling to the ground. 

“They—” Steven starts, and then stops, like he can’t bear to say the words out loud, or believe that he’s saying them at all. “They stopped sending Hounds after us. They’ve almost stopped sending  _ anyone _ after us. I think they might—they might be ending our trial, Andrew.” 

Andrew inhales sharply. “You really think so?” 

Steven nods, though it must kill him to do so. “I think they know they can’t catch us or change our minds. Maybe they’re willing to let us be.” 

They look at each other, through the sting of their summonings and through the apprehension to give into them. Steven cups his face gently, looking mightily hopeful, and Andrew pushes their foreheads together, looking mightily afraid. 

“What are we gonna do if they try to kill us?” 

“We do what we’ve been doing,” Steven replies, smiling a little. “Give them Hell.” 

Andrew snorts, and even though he is afraid, he smiles back. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Steven kisses him sweetly, and then says, “Let’s just see what happens. Let’s go home.” 

“Let’s go home,” Andrew agrees. 

They untangle themselves and prepare to appear for their summonings. Steven’s Form starts to encase him in a beautiful cocoon of Light, and Andrew’s starts to encase him in an intricate, equally beautiful cocoon of glamour. At the last moment, before they’re transported to Kelsey and TJ, Andrew reaches out and clasps one of their hands together. Steven squeezes back, and then they disappear from the motel parking lot like they were never there in the first place. 

Steven and Andrew are still holding hands when they materialize into the council chamber. Their Forms peel back strand by strand and retract into their vessels, until the only thing left is their joined hands and their bruised, tired bodies. Both of their shoulders are like steel and both of their chins are jutted out, as if to prepare for a brawl as soon as anyone makes a wrong move. They stare down at Kelsey and TJ so barbarously that the message is practically shouted into the room: _ We will die or kill to be free again if you try to separate us.  _

As soon as Steven is whole again, and Ryan gets a good look at his face, he nearly bursts into tears. He manages to contain the vicious, broken cry that wants to break free, but a few tears spill down his cheeks before he can contain those, too. He swipes them away quickly, not because he’s afraid of anyone seeing, but because he’s afraid of missing this chance to look at Steven  _ right in front of him.  _ Tired and worse for wear, but alive, and strong, and holding Andrew’s hand protectively. 

There’s a very prolonged, tense moment of silence, where the angels and the demons greedily drink in the sight of their missing family members and Steven and Andrew refuse to look anywhere but right at their bosses. Like if they look away, they’ll miss whatever last trick Kelsey and TJ have up their sleeves. Like if they look anywhere else but right at their tormentors, they’ll forget to be resolute in their bravery. 

The moment is shattered when, after this long period of having a four-way stare-down, TJ begins to laugh. 

“Fuck, you guys don’t need to act like you’re going off to war. We summoned you to have a civil conversation—you can stand down now.” 

This, if anything, just strengthens their resolve. Steven’s jaw clenches, and Andrew’s eyes go their depthless obsidian; the energy surrounding them resembles that of a fist swinging in slow motion. 

“Okay, I’ll admit that that was kind of a cheap shot,” TJ says, holding his hands up placatingly. “But I’m being sincere. We’re here to have a nice, civil chat, not execute you.” 

“Sorry, we’ve been receiving some mixed signals,” Andrew grits out. 

Steven narrows his eyes at TJ. “You already tried to execute us a few times. Is this your last resort, then? Your go-to when all else has failed? Talking _ civilly?”  _

This does erase some of the humor from TJ’s expression. “Lim, if you’ll recall every other trial you’ve been part of in the past, I do not usually give the offenders a chance to speak civilly before banishing them. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” 

“Fuck that,” Steven says, so quietly that Ryan almost misses it over the pounding of his heart. “We’re done with the games and taking a beating from your Hounds and their keepers. Kill us or free us, or we’ll run again and never come back.” 

A reluctant smile pulls at the corner of TJ’s mouth once more. “You boys put up quite a fight out there, all these weeks. I dare say that I’m impressed by your tenacity. But I already knew you two were a Greater and an Archangel for a reason.” 

“We learned from the best,” Andrew agrees, giving TJ his own vicious smile. “Unfortunately for you, boss.” 

“Unfortunately, indeed.” 

Steven turns his hard gaze to Kelsey, who has yet to react to their return. “What about you?” 

“I’ll agree that you both learned from the best.” 

Steven is not fooled by her calm exterior. He asks her, voice cold and disdainful: “Did  _ you _ learn from the best?” 

Kelsey looks at him for a long moment, and then looks at Andrew, and then looks at their joined hands. Even in the face of one of her oldest, most loyal angels, she is nothing but a steel wall, showing only what she wants to show. But after a pause, after staring at the way Steven and Andrew refuse to let go of each other for even a second, Kelsey’s impenetrable shield splinters and shows what is lying underneath. Heartache, misery, and enough regret to flood the room with it. 

“Yes,” she agrees, full of sorrow. “I learned quite a lot.” 

The admission stirs the jury out of their dazed stupor. Now that the shock at seeing Steven and Andrew is starting to wear off, the other angels and demons are waking up and remembering their anger and their terror. 

This unrest only rises when TJ admits, uncharacteristically somber, “I learned a lot, too. More than I thought I would.” 

Andrew’s mouth twists. “Like what?” 

“Like you two are a fucking Hell of a lot harder to kill than I thought you would be, even with my best Hounds and my best crossroad grunts. Like even though I could watch your every move, you still managed to evade us time and time again.” TJ gives them both a measured look, one that is equal parts grudging admiration and that unnatural look of sadness. “Like, maybe, there are worse things to worry about than you two assholes getting it on.” 

Steven and Andrew inhale sharply and do not move. Even Ryan, who hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of Steven since he arrived, turns to TJ at this proclamation. 

TJ, somehow, looks even more somber at this reaction. “You both know as well as I do that this was never supposed to work. This was never supposed to be allowed under any circumstances. Holding this trial was a way to further prove that your relationship with each other could never be anything but a liability and a danger to Heaven and Hell. Just as every demon and angel relationship prior to yours.” 

When Andrew speaks again, his words are very, very, very small and fragile. “And is it?” 

“Of course. But so are many other things in our realms. While watching this trial take place, we began to see that maybe this union is not any more dangerous than other threats to our world, like war, and betrayal. That maybe, after demolishing a small army of demons and angels and our Hellhounds, you two could keep your union and keep Heaven and Hell together at the same time.” 

Steven takes half a step forward, like he might just fall to his knees and beg. “Nothing else has to change except the law on fraternization. Nothing will change except our relationship with each other. Just give us a chance to prove it.”

“You already have.” 

All eyes turn to Kelsey when she announces this, strong and steady despite the anguish in her expression. All eyes watch as she stands from her seat at the head of the table, strong and terrifying as always, but also looking worn to the bone. She goes to them, moves until she is standing right in front of Steven and Andrew like the executioner she could be. 

“You have already proven yourself,” she says again, proud and remorseful. “But it’s not our decision to make.” 

“She’s right,” TJ interjects, before anyone can ask questions. “We formed an extensive jury this time for a reason. They’ve observed this trial’s happenings with far less bias than we have, and without our personal agenda. They get to decide how it ends.” 

Steven and Andrew turn to look at the jury, armor slowly beginning to break apart. They regard their counterparts with bright eyes and haggard expressions, pleading them all to pardon their disloyalty and let them be free. Ryan feels another sob form at the base of his throat when Steven’s gaze falls upon him for the first time in seven months, when Steven turns to Ryan and his lips tremble, like he’s barely holding back his own sob. He doesn’t look away from Steven for a second, hungry once more to get his fill, but he hears someone choke from the other side of the table; his gut tells him it’s Adam Bianchi, who has suffered horribly without Andrew and suffers still without being able to speak to him. 

It lasts five seconds and five thousand years, this silent reunion between the angels and demons and their missing brethren. It lasts forever and not at all, and then Kesley’s voice forces a wedge between them all. 

“Members of the jury, if you believe that Steven Lim and Andrew Ilnyckyj’s union should continue without consequence, and that they should be allowed to remain in their respective domains while continuing this union, raise your hand.” 

There’s another breathless second of silence, of complete and total stillness, and then Ryan raises his hand up in the air without taking his eyes off of Steven. Steven’s eyes shine with tears, but he doesn’t let them fall, just smiles thinly at Ryan. Ryan thinks he can hear the sound of hands rising around him, but he cannot force himself to take his eyes off of Steven, afraid to see that he will be condemned for eternity if he does. 

Just as their reunion did, the wait to see what the jury’s decision will be lasts an eternity and only a few heartbeats. Ryan thinks he’s going to suffocate from the terror of it, from the unconditional, undying love he will always have for Steven. He thinks he may light the whole city block up with his Form if they try to separate Steven and Andrew or take their powers away, and then TJ’s low, gravelly laugh cuts through the silence, and his low, gravelly voice says: 

“A unanimous vote. How about that?” 

Ryan turns his head. All along the cursed jury table, the one his fists created splits and cracks in from the day of the crossroad fight, every single angel and demon has their hand raised straight up in the air. There is no hesitation, and there is no room for misinterpretation. There is only a continuous line of love, righteous anger, and fierce protectiveness. 

He turns to Shane Madej last, because he’s afraid to see that TJ was lying, at least about one of his underlings. But Shane Madej’s hand is high in the air, almost higher than everyone else’s; the sight of it turns Ryan’s insides to fire, and when Shane meets his eyes, for just a split second, his vision whites out. 

“A unanimous vote,” Kesley agrees. “From this point forward, then, so long as you both swear to perform your duties and do not hinder Heaven and Hell’s ability to function as normal, then you shall be allowed to continue your union. Do you accept?” 

When Steven tries to speak, nothing but a broken, wretched noise leaves his throat. He tries again, and manages to get out an airy:  _ “Yes.” _ before his voice fails him again. Andrew is no less amazed, but his words are steady when he says: “Yes, we accept.” 

A genuine smile takes over Kelsey’s face. “Then, as of now, this matter is settled. This trial has concluded, and you two are free to continue as you were previously.” 

“Keep doing your duties as normal, and this won’t have to be escalated again,” TJ warns, but he is almost smiling, too. “Just don’t try to break the world in half and we’ll be in good shape.” 

“Sure thing, boss,” Andrew answers, sounding faint. 

The wounds are still there, and it will take everyone in the room a millennium to heal from this trial. Ryan meant it when he said that it’ll be a long time before he can close his eyes without being taken back to the night of the crossroad. But hearing that Steven and Andrew are free to go, and are able to maintain their relationship as well, begins the healing process immediately. It stitches together some of the trenches cut in his heart; it fills him with so much joy that it forces a relieved grin to his tired face. 

As soon as TJ gives them both a final nod, Ryan is out of his seat. He ignores all of the rising chatter in the council chamber, and the cacophony of the demons good-naturedly calling Andrew an asshole for ditching them. He goes right for Steven as fast as his feet will allow him, similarly ignoring Niki and Kelsey as he does. 

Steven sees him coming just before Ryan can physically touch him, and he whirls around, arms opening. 

_ “Ryan—” _

Ryan crashes into him so violently that it almost sends them to the floor in a heap. Fortunately, Steven keeps them both steady, keeps Ryan steady and on his feet as he has so many times before. He smells like the briney air of the Maine coastline, and like cheap laundry detergent, but even after everything he’s been through and all the places he’s run to to be free, he still smells like home. He still smells and feels like the half of Ryan’s soul that he took when he left. 

Unable to keep it inside of himself anymore, Ryan releases a loud, jagged sob. And then he releases a few more when Steven crushes him close, arms locked tightly around Ryan’s heaving shoulders and face crammed against the crown of his head. His sobs are muffled by Steven’s shoulder, where Ryan buried his face, but Steven feels them perfectly well and answers with a few of his own. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he babbles, kissing Ryan hard on top of his wild tangle of hair. “Fuck, I’m  _ so sorry,  _ Ryan. I didn’t mean—I had to—” 

“I know,” Ryan gasps, gulping in a deep breath of air. “I know, I know, it’s okay. I’m just glad you’re home.” 

“I  _ missed _ you.” Steven’s voice breaks badly, and it just makes Ryan cry harder, makes his arms tighten impossibly around Steven’s ribs. “I missed you every single fucking day, you have no idea.” 

“Me too.” He has a sudden, visceral need to see Steven’s face, to make sure he knows that Ryan understands, loves, and forgives him, that he loves Steven no matter what paths they take. He pulls away enough to look up at Steven, enough that he can wrap both hands around his cheeks and hold him tightly once more. “I missed you like my wings, Steven Lim. But I’m glad that you’re safe and you can stay with Andrew. That’s all I ever cared about, okay? All I ever wanted was for you to be happy and safe.” 

Steven gives him a watery smile and presses their foreheads together, hands moving to cradle Ryan’s cheeks as well. Distantly, he can only imagine the scene they must be making, sobbing over each other at the front of the council chamber and in front of the entire jury. Two angels who love each other and each love a demon more than they can stand. Two brothers who have both gone to the edge of the world and managed to find their way back to each other, after all. 

“I should have said it before I left,” Steven whispers. “I should have told you I loved you, man. I regretted it the second I didn’t, but I couldn’t risk you figuring it out and getting pulled into the mess. But I love you so fucking much, and I’m so fucking glad I got to see you again.” 

Ryan laughs, though half of it is another sob. “I love you too, you big idiot. I’m glad you’re back. But if you ever do something like that again without telling me, I’ll track you down and kill you myself, got it?” 

“Got it,” Steven agrees, and then hugs him once more. 

The other angels allow it for another minute or so, and then Jen is at their side, Form palpably crackling like lightning inside of her skin. 

“I know you two dorks need to kiss and make up for the rest of eternity, but some of us also want a chance to berate and kiss Steven. Copy?” 

Ryan gives Steven one more big, painful hug before stepping away from him. “Fine. But I get him back when you’re done, okay?” 

Jen rolls her eyes fondly. “Yeah, Bergara, we already know.” 

He remains at the front of the room while Jen and Steven embrace tightly, Steven picking her right up off of the floor and Jen crying into the same shoulder Ryan cried into. And then she yanks him over to the angels’ side of the table, where everyone else is waiting to pull Steven into a suffocating hug. The piece of Ryan that followed Steven across the Midwest finally cinches back into place, somehow finds its way back into the torrential mess of Ryan’s soul and fits itself back where it belongs. For the moment, he is content to hang back and watch Steven reunite with their family, watch their family become whole for the first time in several months. Maybe even longer than that. 

Ryan is so focused on his angels that he doesn’t notice when another figure approaches him at the head of the jury table. He only turns when he feels the faint tendrils of their glamour reaching out for him, and catches the familiar scent of sweet woodsmoke clinging to their skin. 

When he turns away from Steven, Ryan comes face-to-face with Shane Madej and his typical smug grin. He can see the legitimate delight in it, though, and can see the relief spread out across his face, and doesn’t even try to get defensive. 

“What an ending,” is what Shane opens with, baring his teeth. “Surely one for the books, eh, Bergmeister?” 

Ryan dryly replies: “It would seem so.” 

Shane turns to give Andrew another lingering look, and then Steven, where he is currently letting Curly fret over his gaunt state and his exhausted body. He looks the way he always does, the way he always did before Ryan tried to break him open and put him on his own trial: like the only person in on his own joke, like a fucking wildfire. He also looks like Andrew’s return filled some of his own trenches, and lit a different kind of fire within his dark, rotten core. Ryan wants to pull him down and kiss him so badly that it makes his mouth water and makes his Light go off inside of him like a sparkler. 

“I never thought I would see the day that TJ Marchbank let one of his Greater demons run off and get married to one of Kelsey Impicciche’s Archangels, but here we are. We witnessed history, little guy, and a lot of it.” 

What he says is,  _ We witnessed history.  _ What he doesn’t say is,  _ We might be able to make our own history and live to tell the tale.  _

Ryan is too fragile to voice this unspoken thought out loud. He’s just been put back together again—he doesn’t know if he can handle losing the other biggest part of himself quite so soon. Instead, he nods at Shane, agreeing without disagreeing or trying to add to this grandeur statement. 

“I know we did,” Ryan says quietly, because he cannot ignore the enormity of this trial’s result even if he is still being haunted by the enormity of its horrors. “I can’t believe it’s over.” 

“Me either.” Shane regards him for a long moment, eyebrows drawing up high on his forehead and smile slipping into something more serious. He looks like he’s preparing himself to say something, and Ryan leans closer, heart a thrashing bundle of worms in his sternum. But then Shane’s face smooths out, and that gorgeous, infuriating smirk curls back into the corners of his mouth. “But, since it is, I do believe that this is goodbye for now.” 

He extends one of his large hands, and somehow manages to make it look like a fuck-you and a show of comraderie all at once. Ryan purses his lips, unsure if he wants to laugh or punch Shane in the gut, but settles on taking his hand and shaking it like he’s meant to. 

“Goodbye for now,” Ryan repeats, and is thankful that his voice doesn’t shake. “Good luck in your endeavors.” 

Shane winks. “You too, angel. And thanks for the great view these past seven months—it really did help to make time fly and make me drag my ass down here every morning.” 

The desire to punch Shane triples instantly, but Ryan is so relieved by the outcome of this trial and so painfully, terribly hopeful of the future that he can’t find it within himself to be mad. Instead, he tips his head back and releases a loud, raucous laugh right into the air between them. He feels Shane’s hand tighten noticeably around his, and hears the noise that Shane makes in response, and both fill his lungs with something warm. 

“You really are something else, Shane Madej,” Ryan tells him, borrowing his words from the restaurant. 

Shane gapes at him like he’s never seen Ryan before in his life. Ryan doesn’t blame him, is painfully aware of how little he has ever given into Shane’s antics, if at all. He wants to blame it on the relief, and the love he’s being consumed by, but it all goes back to that little seed of hope that refuses to die within him. The one that seems to grow and grow the more he tries to pull it out of the soil and sunlight. 

The grin on his face fucking hurts from how wide it is, but he couldn’t wipe it off if he tried. 

“Being on a jury with you is never boring, that’s for sure.” 

Shane opens and closes his mouth a few times, clearly searching for words to reply with. He gets close, Ryan thinks, just one time, gets close to coming up with a possibly-adequate response to this very out of sorts conversation they’re having. But then Sara Rubin manifests at Shane’s elbow and tugs on it, effectively destroying their weird bubble. 

“Madej, let’s go, dude. We’re all going out tonight to celebrate the end of this nonsense bullshit.” 

Shane finds his footing, but both Ryan and Sara are able to tell he stumbles on the landing. “Finally. I’m gonna drink until I ascend to another plane of existence.” 

Sara scrutinizes him, and then Ryan, but is apparently unable to pinpoint what is so off about this exchange. Instead, she says, “Same, brah,” and gives his arm another pointed tug. All Shane has time to do is give Ryan a lame wiggle of his fingers, and then he’s being herded over to the other demons, who are all jostling Andrew around and punching him amicably on the shoulders. Shane turns back once to find Ryan again, face a wonderland of indifference, relief, and  _ hope,  _ and Ryan gives him another toothy grin. When Shane jerks his head away, Ryan can see the tips of his ears turning pink, and figures that even if nothing comes of it, if all his victory comes with is the memory of him making Shane blush, it’ll be worth it. 

He stares at the blush, and then the gorgeous curve of Shane’s throat, and then he turns to go back to Steven’s side, feeling lighter than air and heavy as a stone all at once. The hope grabs onto the bottom of his heart and pushes it up, up, up, but when Daysha takes his hand again, and Steven curls an arm around Ryan’s shoulders, it settles into something he can stand right now. He has no idea what to do now, and where they’ll all go from here. He has no idea if the hope is going to irreparably ruin him or build him a new life. What he does know, and what he needs to know above all, is that no matter what, he will always have a hand to hold onto, and a pair of arms to fall back into. He will always have someone to take a leap of faith with him, and that, at least, will always be enough to keep Ryan from falling endlessly to his death. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEEEEP i hope that was good *sprints away* and i hope you're all ready for the end!!!!! i'm sad to say that the next chapter is going to be the last for this fic, but....... that might not be the last thing posted for this world................. but you'll just have to wait and see ♡♡♡♡♡♡ get ready for bonetown everyone
> 
> also feel free to come scream at me [on tumblr](http://bodhirookes.tumblr.com/ask) as always xoxo gossip girl


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the end....... hold ur breath and count to ten :(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck yall......... this is the last fucking chapter of stay the night with the sinners..... i'm so glad that it's complete but i'm sad that i'm done with this fic :( it was very cathartic to write in many ways, but also very challenging, and i poured a lot of myself in this story and the words that ryan and shane said to each other. i hope that you have enjoyed the journey of this trial as much as i enjoyed writing it, and i hope that you enjoy the last leg of it ♡♡♡♡♡ 
> 
> i did want to say before everyone gets too emo that thanks to a multitude of requests (starting with the lovely revruss!!! ily!!!) i will be writing a lengthy shane!pov oneshot for this universe that details his time as a demon and many details from the trial, and maybe??? a standrew oneshot??? but i'm not as well versed in writing them so idk lmao!! i'm not sure exactly when shane's fic will be up because i need to take a break from the heaviness of this universe and write something stupid and full of shenanigans again, but i hope to start working on it very soon!!! so if yall enjoyed this chaotic dark mess then surprise you've got more to look forward to with a tonnnn more pining lol!!! 
> 
> i wanted to also take a moment to shoutout my incredible friend zero for being my pillar of support throughout this fic, reading the parts of it that i was like ":) let me perish" about, and just generally being the absolute best to talk to. i adoreee youuuuu and am so happy to call you my friend and i hope that you know how much i appreciate every message, every word of encouragement, and every quick note of "hey hope you're doing well!" i don't have any words in all of heaven and hell to express how much your kindness means to me ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
> 
> and, of course, i wanted to take a moment to thank all of you for sticking around and reading this fic, leaving comments, leaving kudos, and leaving all of those sweet and hilarious asks in my tumblr inbox. i love each and every single one of you so much and i'm so fucking ecstatic to be part of a community that seems to be ecstatic that i publish my dramatic fanfics to ao3 and welcomes conversation about how much of a dumbass ryan bergara and shane madej are. yall really keep my love for writing strong and full of holy fire and i will never ever ever be able to thank you all or tell you how much that means to me. writing is my greatest love and seeing love in return for it is something i don't even have the words to describe. only thank you thank you thank you ♡♡♡♡ 
> 
> now, onto the fic you angels and demons!!! i hope you're in it to win it and ready for the most obnoxious confession scene you've ever read w your christian eyes lol

They stay out well into the early, early morning celebrating Steven and Andrew’s victorious return. 

Ryan thought that, upon their safe arrival, the angels and the demons would take their respective homecomer out and spend time with them. But one thing leads to another, before they’ve even exited the council chamber, and somehow all eighteen of them end up spilling out into the beautiful Los Angeles summer night and celebrating as a single entity. Either Curly or Daysha sweet talks the mass of them into going to the same bar/restaurant that they went to before, when they sang nearly a half an hour’s worth of karaoke, and they spend just as many hours there all talking, drinking, eating, and monopolizing the karaoke stage. 

By silent agreement, the angels let him and Jen sit on either side of Steven. They both still feel wild and ragged around the edges, and Ryan has no doubts that it will take them the next decade to fight the urge to be right by Steven’s side at all times. He feels wild and ragged, like he took a shot of adrenaline right to the heart, like he’s the one who was on the run for seven months, but hearing Steven’s laugh and feeling Steven’s shoulder pressing into his at the crammed, overflowing mess of tables is enough to keep him together for now. 

The energy at the table helps to calm his racing heart a little. After all of the shit they’ve been through the past half a year, both together and separately, the angels and demons get along surprisingly well. Now that they’ve all seen the worst, most human parts of each other, and the obligation to hate each other has weakened significantly, it turns out they all fit together pretty well. There’s still tension, a lot of hard feelings and a lot of mistrust, but it’s like they’ve all collectively released a held breath and forced a weight off of their shoulders. They tease each other good-naturedly, talk about unfortunate but hilarious encounters they’ve had over their lives, and start to unlearn their forced animosity for one another.

A lot of the teasing is centered around Steven and Andrew’s heartfelt confessions on the telecast, and the fact that they were all forced to endure them. 

“It was the least rewarding kind of voyeur,” Eugene sneers playfully. 

Keith seems to agree. “Hear, hear! We already knew you two were disgustingly in love with each other, but having to fuckin’ hear it every single hour on the hour for months? I’d rather be thrown in the brig.” 

“I’d rather face the Hounds!” Tania cries, and that sets the entire table off, including Steven and Andrew. 

“If you’re waiting for us to apologize, you’ll be waiting until the end of time,” Andrew tells them. “I’m never going to stop talking to or about Steven like that, even without having our lives constantly threatened. Buckle up, kids.” 

Zach turns to look at Steven in horror, but instead, he makes eye contact with Ryan. He doesn’t look away, though, just mouths  _ God save us all  _ across the table, and Ryan laughs so hard he chokes a little. 

“Well, I’m glad the lives being constantly threatened chapter is over,” Quinta announces. “I’m glad you two are all right and we can continue forward now.” 

“Hear, hear,” Keith repeats, softer. “If I had to sit in that council chamber another minute I would have blown the roof off.” 

Sara reminds them: “Bergara already almost tried to do that. Nice attempt to steal his thunder, though.” 

Ryan feels Steven turn to him, and when he looks up, Steven’s eyebrows are both raised. 

“You tried to blow the roof off?” 

“Not exactly—” Ryan starts, but he’s quickly spoken over by Curly. 

“He almost cracked the parthenon right in half. If TJ had pressed his buttons just a little more, he would have.” 

“Why?” 

Ryan purses his mouth, trying to think of how to word the situation without having it blown out of proportion. He doesn’t care that the others saw him behave the way he did, and he’s endlessly grateful for the direction it took the trial in afterwards; but it’s one thing for the others on the jury to have witnessed the way he reacted to Steven and Andrew almost dying and something else entirely for them to personally hear about it.

But now Steven is looking at him expectantly, and Ryan has a very strong suspicion that the others will not allow him to downplay the events, even if he were able to convincingly lie to Steven. So he takes a deep breath, trying not to remember the vividity of his rage and terror, and says: 

“It was the night of the crossroad.” 

The mood at the table instantly changes. It doesn’t go back to the desperate, livewire kind of tension that sat amongst them during the actual night of the crossroad fight, but it does leach some of the humor and ease from their current mood. Smiles drop into frowns, jaws tighten, and shoulders tense into straight, rigid lines. 

_ “Oh.” _

Ryan nods, looking away from his soft, wounded eyes. “I knew something was going to happen the second I walked into the council chamber that afternoon, but I didn’t know what exactly. And then… I tried to get TJ and Kelsey to call the Hounds off when I realized that they were going to watch you two die in a colosseum fight, but they were mad with the power of it. I cracked the table in a few different places trying to get them to make it stop.” 

Steven gently takes Ryan’s hand under the table, and Ryan grips back, feeling very much like he’s back in the council chamber and holding onto one of his angels for dear life. He wants to explain himself further, try to lessen the severity of what he did when he thought Steven was going to be slaughtered, but a lump forms in his throat and keeps him from speaking again. 

Jen does it for him. “After you two made it back to the motel, Ryan got up from the table and just walked the fuck away. TJ tried to force him back into his seat and keep him in the council chamber, but Ryan told him he refused to sit and watch them turn this into a game. That he’d rather be thrown in the colosseum with you than be a participant in your deaths.” 

Ned gestures at Ryan. “I think his exact words were  _ ‘You get another target or you get a corpse.’” _

“He kicked TJ’s ass,” Adam says, and the subtle awe in his voice makes Ryan flush. “He would have  _ really _ kicked TJ’s ass, too, if TJ tried to start something. It was incredible.” 

Steven looks slightly overwhelmed by this news. “You were going to break your jury vow.” 

He doesn’t phrase it like a question. Ryan, if nothing else, is very unashamed of admitting this much, and he finally turns back to Steven. 

“Yes, I was. I would have severed it right that moment if I had to. I refused to let them kill you while I just sat by and watched. I wasn’t going to be one of their lions. I would have rather been half-dead and atoned than fully alive and guilty of the worst sin imaginable.” 

While Steven and Ryan stare at each other, unfolding their many traumas from this trial for both of them to see, Eugene speaks up again. He has a similarly admiring tone to his words when he reveals: 

“Bergara is the reason TJ changed his mind.” 

“What?” This question, full of surprise, comes from Andrew. He turns to Ryan, eyes wide and mouth a quavering line.  _ “How?” _

Ryan makes the mistake of looking back at him; the wonder and the  _ love  _ that seeps from every corner of Andrew Ilnyckyj’s face almost does him in, and he has to focus on Steven’s grip around his fingers to keep from splitting apart. 

“It wasn’t like that. I just fought back, and I think it woke them up. They used critical thinking skills after that, for as critical as TJ and Kelsey ever manage to be in situations like these ones.” 

“Don’t be so modest,” Zach teases. “He’s the reason TJ changed his mind.” 

Andrew’s question of “Why?” remains unanswered, and this is when Shane, who has been very, very, quiet all night, steps into the conversation. 

“Actually, I think it started with me.” 

All attention shifts to him; when Ryan turns, as well, and gets an unobstructed view of Shane’s amber eyes and the wry curl of his mouth, he breathes in and out as steadily as he can. For his part, Shane doesn’t let himself look at Ryan, and instead opens himself fully to Andrew and his burning gaze. 

“What do  _ you _ mean?” Andrew asks. 

Shane looks supremely uncomfortable with whatever is going to come out next, but he squares his shoulders, tilts his chin, and admits: “There was talk about sending Dreamers after you one night, when you were both cut up and fucking exhausted. And I—I was losing my mind, being cooped up in that Goddamned council chamber, and I let my cruelty get the best of me. I suggested we send Darragh to work you over.”

Steven’s hand tightens around Ryan’s hard enough that it would pulverize mortal bones, the only reaction he allows himself to show.

“You wanted TJ to send Darragh to work us over?” 

“Yeah, I did.” Shane doesn’t flinch away from the iciness of Andrew’s words, or the hatred that can easily be picked from them. “But Bergara offered to take your place instead, and TJ decided to let it go.” 

Steven says his name like he used to say God’s.  _ “Ryan.” _

Ryan just shrugs, a little helpless and a lot out of his depth. “I’d do it again.” 

“It was the combination of Darragh and the crossroad, I think,” Shane continues, sounding fond and sick with regret all at once, “that changed TJ’s mind. He didn’t want to test his luck against Bergara’s, because he knew he would lose.” 

“And thus, you are now free.” Curly spreads his hands, smiling serenely to them all. “We can all move on and start over.” 

Andrew and Shane are still staring at each other, a silent and chilly conversation passing between them without a single word accompanying it. If Ryan hadn’t spent so much time studying them both for different and similar reasons, he might not have been able to follow along. He’s still not fluent, but he guesses that the furrow of Shane’s eyebrows say  _ I’m sorry, I will work for your forgiveness,  _ and the tired creases around Andrew’s eyes say  _ It will take some time, but then again, tomorrow is a new day, isn’t it?  _

Eventually, they nod, and the conversation can return to lighter topics. But not before Niki loudly calls for a toast in Ryan’s honor. 

“Oh my God,” Ryan groans, “stop being so dramatic. I just did what I had to. I’m not a martyr, despite what you all seem to think of me.”

“Lies and slander!” Niki cheers, picking her glass up. “To martyr Ryan Bergara, who successfully told TJ Marchbank to go fuck himself!” 

There’s an echo of this sentiment around the table, and Daysha jabs Ryan’s arm until he concedes and takes a long drink of his beer, feeling ridiculous and also ridiculously in love with everyone at the table. Steven's grip on his hand has gone back to loving and comforting, and Andrew’s eyes have softened into a wordless thank-you, to which Ryan gives him a soft you’re-welcome smile. 

They begin to filter out of the restaurant/bar in small groups a few hours after this. Some of them, like Maycie and Quinta, head back to the parthenon for another night’s rest before returning to normal. Others, like Eugene and Keith, are so restless and tired of being inside of the parthenon that they teleport to their realm as soon as they’re back on the sidewalk. Eventually, the only ones left at the array of tables are Ryan, Steven, and Andrew. 

“Are you going back?” Ryan asks them, when the bar is closing up for the night. 

Steven and Andrew look at each other, and then nod. “We’re exhausted. We need to crash before we figure out what to do from here.” 

They wordlessly get up and rearrange the tables to what they were before the group took them over. Steven magicks up money for the bill, and Ryan carefully removes the glamour settled around their area, and then Andrew is leading them to the entrance like they were never there in the first place. 

The walk back is quiet, all three of them sluggish with fatigue and throats sore from talking for so long. Ryan expects it to be a little uncomfortable, being in the company of Andrew Ilynckyj despite everything that has happened and because of their less-than-stellar history with each other. But his presence is never anything but calming; he doesn’t go out of his way to speak to Ryan, but when they happen to say something or glance at each other, there is no hostility. Ryan can’t stop thinking about the way Andrew looked at him when Eugene announced Ryan was the reason TJ ended the trial the way he did. 

When they make it to the parthenon, and then inside, the halls are completely empty. Everyone is either gone or in their sleeping chambers for the night, and it creates a vaguely eerie atmosphere that Ryan is too tired to care about. The three of them trudge up the stairs to where the angels’ sleeping chambers are, and then go up a second flight of stairs, to where the demons’ chambers are. Andrew takes them down a few doors and then stops when he comes across one whose knob has been glamoured to look bright red. 

“This is ours for the night,” Andrew tells Steven, unglamouring the knob. “Eugene said we could use his chamber, since he’s the cleanest of those who left.” 

“A statement I never thought I would hear,” Steven replies, but he smiles gratefully. “I’ll be right in.” 

Andrew doesn’t even blink, just gives Ryan a parting nod and slips inside, shutting the door behind him. Ryan is appropriately touched by Andrew’s easy acceptance of his need to be close to Steven and get one last fill before tomorrow comes and brings a new set of uncertainties. He is also, once again, thankful that Steven managed to fall in love with someone who is also effortlessly loving and kind. 

He turns to Steven once the door is shut, and Steven immediately pulls him into a tight, relieved embrace. Ryan closes his eyes and breathes him in, locks his arms around Steven’s back and squeezes as hard as he dares. He might not know what uncertainties tomorrow will bring, but he does know, in this very moment, that he has never been more certain that everything will turn out right going forward, one way or another. 

“What will you do now?” Ryan asks, resting the sides of their heads together. “Now that you’re free to do what you want?” 

“I’m not entirely sure yet. They still want me to work, but other than that…” 

His words trail off in a way that Ryan knows means he’s thinking of how to say what he wants to say, so he lets Steven work it out, content to hold him. 

“I think we’re going to get married,” Steven whispers, like if he says it any louder, it’ll be taken away from him. He laughs, too, just for them to hear. “I know we don’t really get married, since we’re supposed to live forever, but I think Andrew still wants to, and so do I. It’s one of those human ideas that seem irresistibly charming to the two of us even after two thousand years of immortality.” 

“That’s great,” Ryan whispers back, grinning. “I think you should do it.” 

He doesn’t have to look to know that Steven is grinning, too. “I think we will. We’ll go out somewhere by ourselves and read each other our vows and put a ring on it.” 

Ryan feels that ever-familiar sense of longing and heartache well up inside of him, but he doesn’t let it get any farther than the pit of his stomach. Instead, he imagines it: Steven and Andrew standing in the middle of some gorgeous expanse of field, wildflowers and vegetation blooming around them, the hot summer sun lighting them both up with Holy Fire. Steven telling Andrew all the ways he loves him, and Andrew telling Steven all the ways he loves him back, and both of them sliding a ring onto each other’s fingers. Kissing to seal their deal without a single other soul in sight. It makes his eyes sting with happy tears, and makes him feel the emptiest he’s ever felt. 

“What will you do?” Steven asks him in turn. 

There’s a lot of things he’s been thinking about doing, ever since Jen asked him on the roof and long before the trial was even a whisper of an idea. Most of his ideas involve falling even more hopelessly in love with Shane Madej, and all of his ideas involve disappearing without looking back. There’s a lot of things he’s been thinking about doing, but the one he still wants to do most when all of this is over is: 

“I think I’m gonna go west, young man.” 

“Yeah?” 

Ryan laughs, just for them to hear. “I’ve been dreaming about the Midwest since you two drove through it. I’ve been  _ dying _ to wander around the Upper Peninsula for a while. Maybe I’ll start tomorrow.” 

“I think you should. You deserve to be free to do what you want, too, after all of this.” 

He sighs. “I want to go west so fucking bad, young man.” 

“Then go.” 

“I think I will.” Ryan lets silence stretch between them for a long moment, trying to think of how to ask his next question without it completely ruining him. “Steven?” 

“Yes?” 

“What’s it like?” he asks, words so hushed they almost don’t come out at all. “Being with your One True Love?” 

Steven’s breath catches, and when he speaks again he sounds so happy that it cuts Ryan like a knife. “I’ve never felt freer. I feel like I’m awake for the first time in a millennium.” 

“You deserve it more than anyone I know.” 

Steven leans back and touches Ryan’s face with one hand, forever his rock, his guiding Light. “You deserve it, too, Ryan.” 

Ryan breathes out through his nose, tries to keep all of his Form’s pieces together. “Thank you.” 

Steven smiles sweetly at him, and then hugs him one more time; Ryan clings, afraid that as soon as he lets go, Steven will evaporate, or he’ll wake up from this dream to find the trial still in effect. He’s pulled out of his spiralling thoughts and worries when Andrew opens the door again; he looks like he’s trying not to intrude, but also like he can’t stand the thought of not looking at Steven for another second, and Ryan can’t begrudge him this fear that mirrors his so well. 

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting, but—” 

“It’s okay,” Ryan tells him, smiling kindly. “I understand. I’ll let you guys get some rest now.” 

Andrew smiles back. “Thanks, Ryan.” 

It’s the first time Andrew has ever said his first name, probably, and it moves something within Ryan. Something that makes him think of the way Andrew was ready to sacrifice everything for Steven, makes him think of the soft way he would touch Steven’s hands or wild hair when they were in the car together. Makes him think of Andrew’s promise to live and die for Steven in every way possible, and makes him think of the way Ryan would rather take anything horrible in Andrew’s place so that he would know no more pain. 

Ryan steps away from Steven and up to Andrew, and then he wraps his arms around Andrew’s shoulders in a tight embrace. Steven makes a funny noise behind them, and Andrew freezes for half a second, and then he embraces Ryan just as tightly. 

“Thank you,” Andrew says raggedly, and Ryan hears everything it’s for without Andrew having to elaborate. “For whatever you did—whatever you said—I don’t even know where to begin.” 

“You don’t need to thank me,” Ryan replies. “It’s the right thing to do, and the right outcome. There was never any other answer but to let you two be together without consequence. All I did was make sure that was the answer chosen.” 

Andrew trembles slightly, but doesn’t say anything else. Ryan gives him a big squeeze and then pulls away, feeling truly calm for the first time in all these months. 

“I’ll see you guys soon,” Ryan tells both of them, and after another round of goodnights, he heads back to his own sleeping chambers. 

As soon as he steps over the threshold, Ryan feels exhaustion hit him like the world dropping onto Atlas’ shoulders. It nearly bowls him over, but he manages to find the strength to head into the bathroom for a shower. He strips with his eyes half-closed, and has to prop a hand up on the wall to keep from dropping when the hot water hits his sore muscles. He stays in there a long time, letting the water unwind the tension in his body and wash away the last dredges of fear and anxiety that have been chasing him since this mess started. 

He gets into his sleep clothes much the same way, lethargic and pleasantly scrubbed clean of the day. The black sleep shirt and pants feel as light as air against his aching body, and he nearly sobs with relief when he puts a knee on the edge of his luxurious mattress, ready to pass out for a whole day if he must. 

Ryan is about to climb fully into bed when he hears a small, timid knock at his door. He strongly considers ignoring it, but curiosity wins out against exhaustion, and he pushes himself away from the bed. 

He expects Daysha or Jen to be on the other side of the door, or even Steven, coming for one last, actual, final goodnight. But when he opens it, a familiar greeting at the tip of his tongue, he instead finds Shane Madej with his hands in his pockets and a slight smile on his handsome face. 

And because Ryan is half-asleep, and completely off of his game, his voice comes out breathy and  _ very  _ surprised when he says: “Shane.  _ Hi.”  _ like a damsel. 

“Hi,” Shane replies, nearly at a whisper, and something about it makes Ryan’s breath catch. 

Though his default setting is sarcastic asshole, Shane Madej has been a lot of things to him over the years: flirty, smug, callous, pissed off, and cruel, cruel, cruel. He’s been charming, ready to own Ryan’s soul with just a few words and a perfectly timed grin to match. He’s been an enigma, a stone wall that Ryan could never hope to climb, let alone find out what lies on the other side. He’s been beautiful, so beautiful that it makes something deep within Ryan ache whenever he so much as thinks about Shane’s mouth and his broad, proud shoulders. 

He has been a lot of things to Ryan over the years, but he’s never been this: soft, careful, and timid. His head nearly brushes the top of the doorway, and his long limbs take up the rest of it, but the way he’s carrying himself makes Shane look undeniably small. 

Ryan’s unsure if he likes that Shane is being honest with him right out of the gate, or if he hates the heartbreak lingering in the corners of his half-smile and his tired, tired eyes. Ryan’s unsure if it’s okay to feel both at the same time. He feels them anyway, and finds himself unable to look away from Shane for even a second. 

Eventually, after they’ve looked at each other for longer than they might have ever looked at each other before, Ryan clears his throat and asks, “What can I do for you?” 

And though he looks like he’s been gutted, Shane manages to laugh a little. “I’m sorry that I dropped in without warning you beforehand. You look like a small breeze could knock you over right now.” 

“It’s been a long night. But I could still take on the Hounds if I needed to, Madej.”

The mention of the Hellhounds sucks most of the humor right back out of Shane, but the smile stays put, to Ryan’s dismay and fascination. 

“I don’t doubt that for a second, little guy.” He stops, hesitating, and Ryan is still so completely entranced by his sudden appearance that he doesn’t even think to get defensive, or to prepare himself for a fight. It takes Shane a few beats to work up to what he wants to say, but after a long pause, he finishes with: “I was hoping that I could stop by and ask you for a favor, if that’s okay.” 

The request should raise alarm bells and sirens in Ryan’s head, make him split into his Form without a second thought like he would with just about any other Greater demon who announced this to him. He almost goes on the defense, almost slips right back into that half-real, half-protective persona of his that keeps Shane Madej out, but Shane’s posture screams everything but danger in this moment. All Ryan sees is bone-deep exhaustion and the faintest, most miniscule glimmer of what could only be that horrible feeling of hope that has risen over the past few days. 

All Ryan sees, now that he thinks about it, is Steven a few days before he decided to run to the Maine coastline with Andrew Ilnyckyj. 

He moves away from the door so that Shane can step fully through it, and he does, bringing the trail of something sweet and something smoky with him like he always does. Ryan closes his eyes for the scant moments it takes him to shut the door to his sleeping chamber, trying to keep his head together even though the Greater demon is here for him, is here for him in Ryan’s otherwise empty room. 

When he turns from the door and back to Shane’s soft, sad eyes, he knows, with absolute certainty, with a heavy heart and his Light pulsing through his veins, that he will not be able to think rationally until Shane is back out of the door again. 

“What was the favor you were hoping to ask for?” 

Shane fixes him with that maudlin look of his, but it goes tense at the edges, like he’s preparing himself for the fight that Ryan decided wasn’t worth it. Ryan wants to reach out and place a hand on his arm, either to settle him or coax the words from his lips, but he stays where he is and waits, either to fight back or to touch when touched first. 

His eyes close for the briefest of seconds, and it’s such an identical action to Ryan’s as he was shutting the door that he nearly misses it when Shane admits, voice devastated: 

“I came to ask you to be with me.” 

Any air in Ryan’s lungs is immediately stolen at these words, and he’s left reeling, left feeling like Shane really did take a swing at him. He thinks he had to have misheard what was said, and it must show on his face, because Shane laughs, amused and, more noticeably, terrified. 

“You—” Ryan begins, but nothing else follows after that one word. He stares helplessly up at Shane, unable to believe what’s happening and that it might be exactly what he’s dreamt of happening. 

Shane shoves his hands further into his pants pockets, and then curls them into tight, strained fists. He sounds more sure of himself when he reiterates: “I came to ask you to be with me. It—I know it sounds fucking  _ crazy _ , but I think the odds are finally in our favor here. They let Andrew and Steven off the hook, and are gonna let them do whatever the Hell they want. They might let us do the same. And even if they don’t, even if those bastards put us on a trial, too, we’re both nearly as old as those two. We’re  _ definitely _ as strong as them. We could face a trial if it came down to it, and there’s no doubt in my mind that we would win ours just the same as they won theirs.” 

Ryan tries to think of something to say, but all he can do is try to keep his breathing steady. He knew, he  _ always knew,  _ that Shane would be his downfall, and that he might be Shane’s, but he never expected it to be made known like this. He expected busted knuckles and snarling confessions deep in the throes of war. He expected a harried truth, and Shane’s dark, biting laugh following after it, his own version of the truth. He expected an angel blade at his throat, pressing in and drawing blood as he spoke the words out loud for Shane Madej, for Kelsey Impicciche, for God Himself to hear, and then the Hounds. 

He never expected fear. He never expected sincerity. He never expected Shane to say it first, and to say it without a mocking edge to the confession. He never expected Shane to rely on Ryan catching him while he tipped off of the edge of their worlds. 

“You’d,” Ryan starts again, and then has to stop and chase the stars from his eyes. “You’d go on trial? For me?  _ With me?”  _

“Angel, there’s a lot of things I’d do for you. You have to know that.” 

“But the garden—” 

Shane doesn’t hasten to deny the severity of what his words did that night. “I meant what I said in the garden at the time that I said it. That was when TJ wanted to burn Andrew and Steven on a pyre of their own making. That was when I knew that if TJ or his Hounds caught Andrew, they’d shred his vessel from his Form and leave him as nothing but a bloodthirsty, mindless beast. That was when I would’ve rather been something than nothing.” 

Ryan curls his hands into fists, the same as Shane. “And now you think you can be something without becoming nothing?” 

“No,” Shane admits, but then also admits: “But if I don’t try to become something more now, then I’ll become nothing eventually. I’ve wanted to become something more since the first time I looked into those gorgeous eyes of yours, but I didn’t think I could ever do it. Until now.” 

“Now that Andrew and Steven get to become something more,” Ryan says. Those hands, the ones that have been stuffing hope into the empty spokes of his Form all these weeks, grab his heart and squeeze. “Now that TJ won’t turn Andrew Ilnyckyj into a barren wasteland for feeling love more than cruelty.” 

Shane takes a careful step forward, as if the words have him on a retracting tether. Ryan clenches his fists tighter, so that he won’t tangle them in Shane’s hair and pull him down to his aching, wanting mouth. 

“I meant what I said in the garden,” Shane repeats, “but I also mean what I’m saying now. I want to be with you, and I want you to be with me. I’m willing to run the gauntlet with you if that’s what it takes. I’m willing to run the gauntlet by myself if that’s what it takes. I’m willing to run and never look back. I’m willing to go head-to-head with TJ Marchbank in Hell if it will give me the chance to be with you.” 

Ryan is almost dizzy with surprise at these words, but the hope and many decades of training keep him sharp, keep him on his feet and keep him from looking away from Shane’s determined eyes. The only part of him, besides his tongue, that is sure about what is happening right now. 

He nearly says yes. What he actually says is: “You really think we could make it through our trial?” 

Shane takes another step, and then another, until they’re nearly pressed together from their toes to their chests. He leaves the barest amount of space between their bodies, and instead reaches up to gently, gently cup Ryan’s face between his hands. The first touch of skin against skin makes his eyes flutter shut, just for a second, just like when he closed the door and tried to make sure his head wouldn’t float off into space. When he looks back up at Shane, he sees a million different emotions and desires behind his amber eyes, deeper down behind the onyx, but what he sees the most of is hope. 

“I have been waiting for this chance for  _ centuries,  _ Ryan Bergara,” Shane says slowly. “I would make it through that fucking trial if I had to crawl through it on my hands and knees. They’d have to kill me to make me stop fighting for freedom. Just the same as Andrew and Steven. Just the same as you.” 

Ryan watches his mouth form the shape of his name. “You’re right. They might kill us. And if we started this trial, if we were given a chance to become something more, I wouldn’t stop until the end or until they cut me down and burned the remains. You’re willing to go through Hell for me? Through the fire? To the end of the world?” 

Shane takes a moment to just look at him, takes a moment to trace Ryan’s face while he thinks of what he wants to say. One of his thumbs runs itself over the edge of his cheek, the way one might marvel at a long lost gem, or a beautiful, terrible statue of the goddess Aphrodite. Ryan’s knees nearly buckle at the wonder in his gaze, at the deep, insatiable wanting that pours from the tips of Shane’s fingers and down into Ryan’s human remains. 

“I would do nothing less for you,” he finally replies. “I  _ deserve _ nothing less than fire for all of the things that I’ve said and done to you. I would claw my way through that fire just to prove myself worthy of your love. I would fight a million Hellhounds if it meant that when I got up off of the ground, I would be worthy of standing by your side. I would go through this trial, and then another, and another after that, if it meant that I could redeem myself of the sins that I have committed and find salvation in your arms.” 

The hope squeezes once more, so sharply and deeply that it nearly brings tears to Ryan’s eyes. He clenches his fists against it tight enough that blood wells up beneath where his fingernails are digging into his palms. 

Shane traces his cheek again, sweet despite the anguish in his words. “I have never been worthy of your love, and I doubt that I will ever be worthy of it, no matter what trials I run, or what fire I face. I’m one of the best Greater demons for many reasons, and half of them are because of the Hell that I have put you through.” 

And though it may be true, Ryan knows that underneath the horror in Shane Madej’s rotten, mangled core, there is a Light that is fighting to break free. He stares right into that Light and fixes Shane with a fierce look. 

“Everyone deserves a chance to repent,” Ryan tells him. “Everyone is worthy of love and forgiveness. Even you.” 

Shane smiles a little. “I knew that you would say that. But I don’t want just anyone’s love and forgiveness. I want  _ yours. _ And I will do whatever it takes to be worthy of it.” 

Ryan stares at him once more, helpless and burning up with hope, and Shane says, “If you’ll have me, I will be yours. I will run whatever trials I must. I will take you to the end of the world with me, and I will follow you if you wish to take us there yourself. I want to be with you no matter what, in whatever capacity.” 

It almost bursts out of him again: the immediate acceptance, the desperate need to agree to be with Shane, to go through whatever Hell they must to be together. He nearly admits it all: that he has been in love with Shane Madej for longer than he even knows, has been dying to go on trial with him since that first one they served together, has been thinking about it constantly since beginning this one. He nearly admits that the longing and want have been slowly crushing him, and that throughout the course of this trial, Steven and Andrew have opened Ryan’s eyes to what he could have if he and Shane were given a chance, and he’ll never be able to close them again without seeing the Midwest and the empty, free space within in. 

He nearly says it all out loud, nearly says:  _ Yes, I will crawl through fire for you, will kill any Hound that tries to drag my away from you, will rip whatever is left of TJ Marchbank’s heart right out of its cage and watch him die if it means I can find my own salvation in your arms.  _ But even though Ryan has loved Shane for a long time, he has been afraid longer, has known love without fear and talons, and even Shane’s candor cannot keep him from clinging to the fear by the skin of his teeth. 

Ryan’s entire vessel trembles and he gives in for just a moment, gives in and pushes his face into the warm, gentle hold Shane has on it. Shane breathes in sharply, and Ryan nearly crumples at the sound, at the hot, bloody desire he feels to close that last inch in between their cores, at the hot, bloody desire he feels to kiss Shane’s charming, Goddamned mouth. 

And then, when the desire becomes too great, he pulls his chin up again. Pulls it up so that Shane is still holding him close but is no longer holding him steady, and looks right into his bright, fathomless eyes. He has to ask again, just once more, has to make sure that Shane knows that if they fall, they’re going to fall together, and break all of the same bones when they land. 

“You’re sure that you’re willing to be on the receiving end of TJ’s wrath? On the receiving end of a Hound’s jaws?” Ryan watches Shane carefully for any sign of hesitation, any sign of regret. “Are you sure that you’re willing to endure seven months of running and bleeding to be with me? Maybe years of running and bleeding? That you won’t just leave me to rot once you’ve taken everything that I have to give you?” 

But there is no hesitation in the line of his shoulders or his lips when, after appraising Ryan for a long, long moment, Shane hunches down so that they are eye-to-eye and tells him: 

“If you asked me to this very moment, I would face the fire, the Hellhounds, and TJ Marchbank all at once. I would kneel at your feet for the rest of my existence if that is what you desired. If you gave me nothing but your forgiveness, if you gave me nothing else but a chance to prove myself worthy of your Light, it would be enough. I want everything with you, and I want to give you everything I have even if you give me nothing in return. The only thing I want is a chance. You don’t have to give me anything else. And you don’t even have to give me that, if you don’t wish to. This is me telling you that I would cut down every Dreamer that tried to stop me from being with you, and that I would gladly bow before you and work for my forgiveness if that’s what it took.” 

_ “Shane,” _ Ryan whispers, voice breaking around the end of his name. 

“I mean it. I mean every single word, angel. You have been a piece of my soul for centuries, and long before then, too. You’ve probably been woven into my Fate since the moment it was written, when I was alive Before and when I dug myself out of the ashes After. I knew it the moment I turned and saw you in that forsaken village, when I turned and saw you looking at me with disgust and hatred and I still wanted to fall to my knees before you. I would tear up the ends of the Earth for you, Ryan Bergara. I would throw away every single part of Hell if that’s what it took to prove my loyalty to you.” 

He tries once more to think of what to say in response that could encompass the enormity of his longing, the enormity of what these words mean to him. Ryan tries and tries to think of what he could possibly respond with to tell Shane that he has been waiting a thousand years for this type of honesty and these words of love and devotion, but in the end, it comes back to the same word, to the name that has left Ryan in a state of unrest and hunger since he learned it. 

_ “Shane.”  _

Shane must hear it, must hear the unmistakable consonants of want and love in Ryan’s voice, because he leans closer until their foreheads are touching, just like in the garden, just like in the diaphanous shadows of the parthenon’s main staircase. He presses their foreheads together, presses his fingers into Ryan’s skin like he’ll collapse if he doesn’t, and asks: 

“Would you tear the Earth up for me?” 

And after everything, after all of the horror and cruelty and the hope, Ryan lets himself leap right off of the edge of the world. He lets himself pray that Shane will grab his hand and hold on as he does. He lets himself have the only thing he’s ever truly wanted in his entire existence as one of God’s Archangels. 

He lets himself unclench his fists, and lets himself confess: “I would put out every single star in Heaven for you.” 

At these words, Shane releases a deep groaning sound, like his chest is caving in, like he’s nearly to the surface of the ocean he’s been drowning in for a millennium. His thumbs push heavily into the arches of Ryan’s cheeks, and Ryan takes his own hands and cups them against Shane’s head, tangles his fingers into the wild, silky strands of his hair and yanks him down into a desperate kiss. 

Their first kiss is everything and nothing like Ryan imagined, in the deepest, darkest depths of the nights where he let himself do so. He expected the urgency behind it, the harsh clashing of their teeth and the aching sting of their hands digging into each other’s skin. But he never could have imagined the way it would make him  _ feel,  _ down underneath his vessel and to where his Form lies. He feels the urgency, and the harsh, bruising press of Shane’s teeth, and the sting his grabbing hands leave behind as they pull Ryan closer. But he also feels the stars he promised he would put out exploding behind his closed eyes, feels the sparks falling from them light his insides up like the hottest, Holiest Fire. He feels that desire, that love, that longing and wanting and hoping fill him from the bottom up, until it’s splashing out into the violent kiss they’re giving each other. He feels like he’s running bare-footed down a blistering, empty highway in the Midwest towards where Shane is waiting for him, both hands stretched out and open. He feels like he’s standing on the carnage of Hell and all of its demons and Hounds and letting them watch him kiss Shane Madej within an inch of his life. 

He feels, for the first time, even from Before and most certainly After, like he doesn’t already have one foot in his grave and the other one waiting on the edge of it. He feels like a burning star; he feels like he’s standing on solid ground since the first time he opened his eyes and saw Heaven all around him. Since the first time Shane looked down at him and smiled that lovely, crooked smile of his. 

Ryan rips his mouth away from Shane’s and takes a loud, ragged breath before immediately moving to kiss him again. Shane groans once more, the noise so deep and anguished and relieved that Ryan would ask if he’s all right if he weren’t so focused on never letting go of Shane again. He figures that Shane is doing just fine when the man in question moves his hands from Ryan’s cheekbones to his lower back, underneath his loose sleep shirt, and spreads the enormous span of his fingers across as much skin as he can manage. He separates what little space remains between their bodies and holds Ryan with more force and more tenderness than he knows what to do with. 

Ryan kisses him again and again, exalted and despaired to find that kissing him does nothing to quell the biting hunger in the pit of his stomach, that it only makes that biting hunger grow and pulse until Ryan can hardly stand it. 

When Shane’s fingers dig into his skin, like he wants to reach right in and feel the rush of Ryan’s blood, Ryan starts to speak. He releases all of his secrets, the ones he thought he would have to take to his grave. He admits all of his damning truths, the ones he thought he would never get to say out loud to anyone, let alone Shane Alexander Madej. He lets Shane see fully behind his mask, just as Shane has let Ryan see behind his, and tries not to fly away with how light he feels from doing so. 

“Every star,” he professes. “I’d put out every single one. I’d run out of Heaven without a single look back if you asked me to. I’d run and I wouldn’t look back because the best part of me would be right by my side. If I were finally able to have it, I would run to the edge of the universe with you, and beyond that if it came to it. I would never stop until I was able to have you forever, and I would still love you even if they took it away from us. I would still love you as they commanded the Hounds to tear my throat out, and I will love you until every last star in the sky dies and turns to ash.” 

Shane, it seems, has run out of his own pretty words to say. All he can reply with, fingers digging into Ryan’s spine, vessel trembling all over, is:  _ “Ryan.”  _

Ryan is struck again by their similarities, struck again by how when they have nothing else, they resort to saying each other’s names. He is struck by how tightly wound their Fates are, and he is struck by how much of his mind, body, and soul is stitched forever into Shane’s. He always thought of it as a curse, as a lingering punishment for whatever sins he didn’t repent for in his first life. He knows now, without a doubt, that it is the greatest gift he’s ever received, one that he was finally able to have after almost a thousand years without it, and he’ll die before he gives it up again.

When he kisses Shane, he slackens the tight, fierce grip he has on his hair, until he’s just cupping Shane’s head with both of his palms. So that his touch is more about holding him in this moment than keeping him on the right side of their tilting worlds. 

He gives Shane one more searing kiss and then holds himself away, enough so that they can look at each other. Ryan’s eyes open much the same way they did when he woke to discover he had become an angel After dying. Shane’s eyes flutter open like he’s waking from an eternal and gruelling nightmare into the most wonderful dream. His eyes are mostly black, except for the thin ring of amber left around his pupils, his mouth is bright red and bruised, and his pale skin is brilliantly flushed and hot to the touch, and Ryan loves him so brutally that it makes his head spin. 

“I want to be with you, and I want you to be with me,” Ryan tells him, trying to stare at all of Shane’s gorgeous face at once. “I will run any gauntlet, I will face any fire, and I will take down any Hounds that try to stop me from being with you. I will destroy God if I must if it means I don’t have to be without you for another fucking  _ second.  _ I’ve been dreaming of this for nearly my entire existence as an angel, and TJ Marchbank and Kelsey Impicciche will have to kill me before I walk away from it again. You have my word, Shane Madej. And you’ve got everything else, too.” 

Shane stares at him for a moment, seemingly amazed and unable to do anything else. And then he laughs, quiet and full of heartbreak and absolute reverence, and kisses Ryan again. He kisses Ryan so sweetly that it makes Ryan’s entire vessel and Form ache with how much he loves this demon and his rotten, mangled core. 

Ryan still feels like there’s something he needs to bring to the Light to make Shane understand what he means to him. To make him understand how long this Garden of Eden has been growing inside of Ryan’s core; to make him understand how much of him belongs to Shane, and how much of him he has to lose if their union is forbidden. 

He kisses the corner of Shane’s smiling mouth and then whispers, low and gutted, “I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you, outside of that village of the damned. I never wanted to let myself think it, but my body has always known. My heart has always belonged to you. My Fate was probably woven into yours the moment the universe knew that we were destined to exist in the same world, and there was never any chance of pretending otherwise, never any chance of going down any road that led to a moment other than this one. And I know that there are many roads for us to walk down yet, and that we might not make it to the end of them, but I would rather have the road than the sky. I would rather have you than the stars, and I would rather have our Fates than my immortality without question.” 

Shane makes another pained, fervent noise. “My heart belonged to you long before I knew I even still had one. Sometimes I think that it was missing until you came along and put it back where it belonged. I already know without looking at it that it’s covered in your Light, and that no one else will ever be able to touch it except for you.” 

“Good,” Ryan says, the single word full of ferocity, “because it’s mine and  _ I want it.”  _

“It’s yours, it’s yours,” Shane babbles, kissing him again. “It’ll always be yours. I’ll live the rest of my existence with your hand clenched around my heart and I’ll die with your fingerprints on it, with your Light filling all of the dark spots that touched it before you had the chance.” 

Ryan kisses him back. “I’ll keep it safe, so long as you promise to do the same to mine.” 

“Of course,” Shane rasps. “Of course I will. It’s mine and I fucking  _ want it.”  _

Ryan is still trying to wrap his mind around the words when Shane takes his hands off of the skin of his back. His jumbled, whirling thoughts slow to see why Shane is pulling away, after the words they’ve spoken to each other, but then he realizes that Shane pulled his hands away to use them. His eyes are burning their true obsidian, and his Form is beginning to spill from his bitten lips and his open palms as he calls on his Greater demonic powers. Shane takes a few steps forward, until he’s standing in front of the door to Ryan’s sleeping chamber, and weaves together what Ryan realizes is a powerful barricade, both against intruders and outside noise. 

He joins Shane at the door and calls on his Light, calls on it to create a sigil that even TJ Marchbank would struggle to destroy. When he places both palms against the door, right underneath Shane’s, he thinks about safety and silence, about the two of them being transported to their own world where none of the other angels and demons exist except for them. Their glamour sinks into the door, stitching various wards into and around it as commanded. And when their glamour touches and carefully winds together, instead of clashing, Ryan feels hope thrum through his veins, feels it heal more of the wounds this trial left on him than he thought would ever be possible.

When their ward against anyone else hearing into or entering Ryan’s room is completed, a steel wall between them and the others, they turn to each other once more. Ryan’s hands find Shane’s face, knuckles pressing into his temple bones, and Shane’s find a new stretch of skin under his sleep shirt, right up against his fluttering ribcage. 

Shane stoops down again so that Ryan hears and feels every word he says. 

“You have all of me. Forever and always from this point forwards. I want to give you everything that I’ve been meaning to give to you since the moment I met you. If that’s something you’d want.” 

And just in case he misunderstood what  _ that _ means, Shane shows him by carefully prying one of Ryan’s hands from his face and pressing a slow, soft kiss to the center of his palm, to the tips of his fingers. And then he pushes Ryan’s hand through the front of his grey button-up shirt, where a few buttons have come undone to reveal his pale, scarred skin, and lays it right over his beating heart. Ryan inhales unsteadily and reaches for the glamour that he knows curls around all of Shane’s insides. He feels it when his glamour reaches back, like it wants to burst from his vessel’s breastbone and sink into Ryan’s palm, the exact place that Shane kissed so delicately. 

“Of course I want that,” Ryan says hoarsely. “I want it all. I want  _ everything. _ Your cruelty, your anger, your kindness, your touch, your vessel, your True Form, even your fucking jokes. I want every single piece of you.” 

Shane’s eyes shine like two jewels in the dark, gold lighting of his sleeping chamber. “And if I want your fury? Your coldness? Your righteousness? Your touch, your vessel, your True Form, and even your fucking stubbornness?” 

“You’ve got it,” he replies, voice like a serrated blade. “It’s never belonged to anyone else except for you.” 

When Shane kisses him again, wildly and with reckless abandon, Ryan digs his fingers into Shane’s head and heart and does his best to hold on. He vaguely recognizes that the end destination of this entire encounter is his bed, where he is going to willingly hand over every single piece of himself that Shane will take, but it’s hard to be scared when Ryan has never felt safer. Has never felt like he fit better into his vessel, or like he wasn’t seconds away from breaking free from it to engage in battle. He feels entirely and wonderfully stuck in this moment, and feels every single place that Shane is touching him. 

As Shane walks them backwards to Ryan’s luxurious bed, Ryan works on getting the rest of his shirt unbuttoned. Each time he unhooks one more button, and his knuckles brush against Shane’s bare torso, Shane pushes his own hands higher and higher underneath Ryan’s shirt until it’s bunched up beneath his shoulders. Ryan lets him go when he leans away, and obediently raises his arms up so that Shane can pull his shirt off. And while Shane is giving him a very obvious once-over, Ryan takes the opportunity to undo the last button and shove his shirt off, so that there’s nothing in front of him but a long, long stretch of bare skin. 

“You have _ freckles,” _ Ryan mumbles, almost to himself. “Lots of them.” 

“I do,” Shane agrees, amused. “I guess becoming a demon heightened more flaws of mine than just my dazzling personality.” 

“They’re not flaws. They’re perfect.” 

To prove his point, Ryan leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss over one of Shane’s many freckles; it’s close to his left nipple, so close that Ryan’s nose accidentally brushes over it, and Shane makes another one of those low, creaking groans like he’s going to come all the way undone. He drops Ryan’s shirt onto the floor and puts one hand back where it was, over almost the entire expanse of his ribcage. 

He tucks the other hand under Ryan’s chin and tilts it up, until they’re looking at each other again. “If you want to talk about perfect, there’s plenty of material I could go over with you right now, and none of it involves me, myself, or I.” 

Ryan tries to hide how flustered this makes him by kissing Shane’s skin again. He leans forward and places one over his heart without breaking their eye contact, and the way that Shane’s eyes flicker between amber and black, like he doesn’t even have control over that small piece of himself, shoots a thrill through him. 

“I could say the same thing, Madej.” 

Shane’s old, handsome face does a series of complicated changes, and lands at a point between loving and anguished. “Everything about you is virtuous, angel. There’s very little about me that could even be placed in the same vicinity of tolerable, let alone  _ virtuous. _ I’m not sure I’ll ever be truly worthy of your affections, I’m afraid.” 

Ryan pulls Shane down again, so that they’re eye-to-eye, so that he has no choice but to stand on the same ground as Ryan and see if they can let something grow there. 

“I’ll admit that you hurt me greatly during this trial,” Ryan starts, not wanting to lie but not wanting to hurt Shane back, either. “And I wasn’t sure if it would ever stop hurting. But I’m not innocent here—I’ve done and said things to you that God would strike me down for, regardless of where you reside. We are what we have always been: equals who were given a battlefield to fight through to see what they might find on the other end. We are both innocent and guilty of the same crimes when it comes to what we feel for each other.” 

Shane’s eyes shine in the brassy light, and this time, Ryan doesn’t think it’s from delight or pride. He carefully presses his thumb to the corner of one eye, and Shane’s throat quivers like he’s trying not to sob. Every cell in Ryan’s ancient body aches at the thought of what Shane has probably endured these many centuries. 

“Maybe you did bad things Before, and maybe you’ve done bad things After, but at some point, every demon pays their debt and then keeps paying. I’ve seen it in all of you. You give what you’re meant to give and then the Devil keeps syphoning whatever love and forgiveness you’ve earned back out of your vessels. He makes sure you keep bleeding out for the entirety of your existence, until there’s nothing left but your Forms. Until you’re nothing but what He has become.” 

The words have their desired effect: between one moment and the next, as the word ‘become’ leaves Ryan’s mouth, he feels a white-hot wash of pain pulse through their connected Forms. It only lasts a second, barely enough time for him to feel it at all, but it tells him what he needs to know. Ryan has been hurting, but so has Shane, and the severity of the pain that he has been experiencing for two millennia has left him cruel and mangled. Has left him feeling like he’ll never know anything else except for pain.

Ryan kisses his jaw, soft and sweet and caring where their other kisses have been deep and hungry and voracious. The noise that Shane makes, a noise that comes from the soul and not from the body, fills Ryan with nearly identical measures of anger and love. One for the Devil and one for the creature he created to destroy. 

“But you are not Him. Just as I am not untouchable and otherworldly, like my Maker. We are both flawed. We are both at fault. We have both done things that we deserve to spend a few decades in Purgatory for.” Ryan catches the tear that spills from his eye, touches him with more care than Shane has probably ever been given in his entire life. “And we are both worthy of the same love and forgiveness. You have given me yours, and I have given you mine, and in the grand scheme of things, in the grand scheme of our complicated domains and their archaic rules and hierarchies, that’s all that matters. I want your affections and you are the only being in this universe and all of the other ones who has a right to mine. And that’s all there is to it.” 

Shane’s throat works again, like he might break down or might unleash his own torrent of words about love and forgiveness onto Ryan. He looks like he might say them all, like he might say them all and then wash away completely, but when he speaks, all he says is: 

“You have my love and forgiveness.” 

Ryan grins, so widely that it hurts, and kisses Shane’s jaw again. “And you have mine.” 

Shane bends down and kisses him properly, with so much  _ affection  _ that Ryan nearly cries too. And then they’re lost fully in it; words have no place in the Holy ground they’re finally standing on together, only the actions that bring them closer and closer to absolution. They peel each other out of the rest of their clothes and scarred, rough hands greedily run over every new inch of skin that’s revealed, over every new layer that is pulled away. It’s about more than seeing their bare skin after so many hundreds of years of longing for it: it’s about seeing behind the walls that have been built by and for each other in that time as well. When Shane helps Ryan step out of his sleep pants, he is able to stare fully down into the human remains that writhe to be touched by him. When Ryan helps Shane step out of his worn jeans, he is able to see the desperate longing for Light that Shane has been carefully hiding and concealing for as long as he has been alive. When Shane gets rid of Ryan’s briefs, he is able to see the pieces of Ryan that would put him in league with the Horsemen. When Ryan gets rid of Shane’s, he is able to see the pieces of Shane Madej that would make a better Archangel than Kelsey Impicciche ever was. 

And when they are fully bare and when all of their clothes and hidden layers are finally on the floor, they are able to see, for the first time, their biggest shared secret, their most condemning truth: that they have always been exactly the same. That they have always been worthy of each other’s love and forgiveness. That when their Fates were crafted, there was never a chance that they wouldn’t be cut from the same thread, that they wouldn’t take Ryan Bergara and Shane Madej down any other path except for the one that led them to each other. 

When Shane kisses him again, without a single barrier or wall between them, Ryan feels it down to his human remains, feels it within every single inch of his vessel, his Form, and the scars that cover each of them. When Ryan guides him to his bed, a buoy in the ocean that they’re finally emerging from, he feels Shane’s Form fit into his vessel like it was meant to be put there, instead of forcefully locked inside. 

They end up in the middle of Ryan’s bed, the sheets churned up around their bodies and tangled between their legs. Shane takes his rightful place in the very center, a king claiming his throne, and Ryan takes his rightful place in his lap, thighs over thighs and Ryan’s knees tucked around Shane’s hips. As Shane procures some kind of oil, commands that it come to him in between the searing kisses he’s pressing to Ryan’s sternum and lower, to his abdomen, Ryan begins to wonder if his bed is not also an ocean within another ocean, a whirlpool within a restless, volatile sea, and Shane is the buoy he’s been trying to cling to. If Shane has not always been anchored to the bottom of this ocean they were thrown into a thousand years ago, and it took nearly drowning before Ryan was able to find it and hold on. 

When Shane says, ragged and awed: “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,” Ryan gets his arms around the buoy and doesn’t let go. And when Shane presses the first finger into him, hot with oil and a desperate, carnal longing, he throws his head back and watches all the stars in Heaven burst open like a million tiny buds of fire. 

Shane kisses his exposed throat, and the choked, breathless noise that leaves it makes him add another finger, makes him reach inside Ryan as far as he can go, like he’s trying to touch the human remains that belong to both of them. 

He sounds suspiciously close to tears again when he tells Ryan, “Never, in the two thousand years that I’ve been a Greater demon, did I think I would ever get to see something so Holy again and not be burned by it.” 

Ryan forces himself to look away from Heaven and to the demon he would give it up for without a second thought. Shane was breathtaking enough when the golden light of Ryan’s sleeping chamber made his eyes look like precious jewels; now, with nothing but miles and miles of bare skin on display, as gold as the light, and his messy hair a tangle of copper and brass, he looks every bit as Holy as his words proclaim Ryan to be. He looks like Adam, a miracle made directly from God’s own rib bone. He looks like the first Archangel that swept across Heaven, wrapped in Holy Fire and too magnificent to look directly at without fear of being blinded. 

Ryan wraps both arms around his shoulders and bears down on his fingers, wanting to feel as much of Shane Madej at once as possible. 

“I have never looked upon something as Holy as you,” Ryan replies, eyes catching on the redness of Shane’s mouth. “I feel the burn of you every single minute of every single day. I’ll feel the burn of you for the rest of my existence. I’ll never find anyone else as Holy and full of Light as you.” 

Shane presses a third finger into him, his other hand like a brand across Ryan’s lower back. Ryan hisses at the sting of it, and then at the wonderful stretch of it, opening him up further to Shane in any way that he can be opened. 

“It was never a burn for me.” Shane kisses his throat again, and digs his teeth in a little, another scorch of fire across the Heaven behind Ryan’s eyes. “It was always a hunger. I didn’t know I was starving until I touched your skin for the first time, when you tried to slip away without telling me your name. I’ve been ravenous since that first moment, from the first time I felt your pulse beating underneath your skin, from the first time I felt the blood rushing through your veins.” 

“Me too,” Ryan gasps, as Shane presses up into him and hits something that makes his vision white out. “I’ve belonged to you since that night.” 

With a deep growl, Shane finally pulls his fingers from Ryan’s body and slicks himself up with more oil, vessel twitching at the edges where his Form is trying to break free. His cock is flushed a dark, bloody red, just like the apples of his cheeks and the valley between his collarbones, and Ryan feels lightheaded with the need to feel it inside of him. With the need to bind them further together, so tightly that neither of them will ever be able to untangle the knots of their messy, bloody Forms. 

Shane’s eyes are like two black holes when he stares up at Ryan, up along the few inches that separate them. He looks up at Ryan like he’s every bit the Archangel he’s worked to become; he looks up at Ryan like he’s every bit the Horseman he could become if he tried. 

“I knew, just the same as you, that as soon as our eyes met outside of that village of the damned, I was doomed to love you for all of eternity. I fell immediately and irrevocably in love with the Holy Fire in your eyes and the way you held yourself so surely, even in the face of a Greater demon. And I knew that there was never a chance that I could ever have you and your Holy Fire, so I let myself rot. I let myself waste away on the hunger that consumed my Form at the thought of never touching your skin again unless it was with my bloody fists. And now…” 

Shane breaks off, seemingly unable to finish his thought. Unable to fathom that he  _ can _ finish this thought that has followed him for centuries. So Ryan pushes closer to him and finishes it for him, smearing a kiss along Shane’s cheek. 

“And now I am yours,” Ryan breathes, kissing the corner of his mouth this time. “Now you have me completely and irrevocably, and I will spend the rest of our lives reminding you of this, over and over again if I have to.” 

The nails of Shane’s other hand dig into Ryan’s back, like Ryan is his buoy, too, and he leans into it. Leans into it and kisses Shane’s mouth with the same type of ravenous hunger it’s been feeling since they met. 

He threads his fingers back into Shane’s hair, holding on for dear life, and tells him: “And I want you to touch my skin without bloodying your fists first. I want you to touch  _ all of it.”  _

Shane yanks him down into a bruising, deep kiss the same moment he pushes his cock into Ryan’s pliant body. He sobs at the sensation of it, at the sensation of being completely filled for the first time, and Shane nearly backs away, mistaking it for pain. But Ryan keeps him close, kisses him deeper still, shows Shane with his hungry mouth and his burning Form that it’s the best he’s ever felt. Even when the tears finally come, and even when they begin to drip down his cheeks and onto his skin, Ryan holds Shane to him and lets himself feel everything he never let himself feel before. 

Every kiss that Shane gives him is like opening his eyes for the first time. Every time that he pulls out and slams back into Ryan, every time that Ryan pushes up onto his knees and falls back into the circle of his arms, it’s like finally breaking the surface of the ocean and taking his first gulp of air. It’s like watching every single star in Heaven be put out and reignited, over and over and over again. 

As requested, Shane takes his time touching all of Ryan’s skin. He kisses Ryan’s chin, his neck, his shoulders, right over his thrashing heart. He drags his hands over Ryan’s trembling thighs, up the expanse of his torso and to his shoulder blades, where his wings protrude when he is fully in his True Form. He touches Ryan in every way that he knows how, looks at him the same way, and doesn’t flinch at what he finds. And as Ryan looks at him in every way that he knows how, unafraid and with his eyes wide open, Shane also begins to cry. They press their foreheads together and let tears run down their faces, let each other stare right into their mangled, loving cores, filled both with Light and Darkness, and they don’t turn away. 

Eventually, as Ryan begins to grow frantic with love and hunger for Shane Madej, his Form starts to overtake more of his vessel. Light spears from between each finger and through the center of his solar plexus, just like always, and also through each shoulder blade, where Shane’s hands are clutching onto him. He fears, for a horrified, heart-stopping second, that the Light will burn Shane, will force him from Ryan’s arms. But he doesn’t shrink away from Ryan’s Light when it touches him, or when he sees it begin to shine from the hollow of his throat. Instead, the Light seems to wrap around him much the same way that Ryan is, like it belongs to Shane, like it knows that Shane is worthy of its Holiness. 

When Shane’s Form begins to take over as well, when his glamour spills from his lips and his palms, from the spot where their chests are pressed together and where their hips meet every time Shane pushes into Ryan’s body, it doesn’t feel like a knife in his bones, or like the excruciating pain of being suffocated. It feels like an extension of Shane’s loving hands, the ones that are holding Ryan like he is both priceless and indestructible. It feels like they are entirely and thoroughly connected to each other for the first time ever; it feels like something that Ryan has been waiting years for, it feels like something that has been inevitable since he met Shane so long ago. 

“I love you,” Ryan confesses, the words breaking around a high, helpless moan. Shane’s fingers dig into his shoulders and pull him down onto his cock harder than before, almost erratically. “I love you so much I can barely keep it all inside of me, Shane Madej. I’m gonna take you to my grave and whatever waits for me there.”

Shane moans too, wrapping his long, long arms around Ryan’s sides and pulling him as close as he can possibly get. 

“I already told you,” Shane gasps, still not looking away, “that there is nowhere you can go that I will not follow. To the ends of the universe and beyond that. To the depths of Hell and the heights of Heaven. That includes your grave, Ryan Bergara. I’ll follow you  _ anywhere. _ I love you, and I will always love you. I’ll love you until the day I die, and long after then, too.”

Ryan feels the hunger and love within him pulse sharply, and he pushes back onto Shane with a desperation he’s never let himself show. Shane takes it in stride, answers back with his own unparalleled desperation, and Ryan cries out when he feels Shane’s hand, still slick with oil, curl around his aching cock. His Form roars in his ears and spears out of the soles of his feet, from the tips of his curling toes and the part of his lower back that Shane was holding onto before, and Ryan thinks he might fall apart from this and never go back together again. He thinks he might burn up entirely like a phoenix and have to be reborn from the ashes, like he might never go back into his vessel if he lets his Form out now. 

Shane lets him burn, watches him shake apart around every single part of their intertwined bodies, unafraid of being touched by the flames. The weight of his eyes and the surety of his love for Ryan, of his willingness to be scorched if it means he can watch Ryan catch fire, nearly tips him over the edge. He holds on with whatever Archangel strength he has left, with whatever part of his Form still resides within his vessel, and drags Shane to the edge with him. 

He drops one hand from Shane’s shoulders to where Shane’s hand is wrapped around him, and he slides their fingers together, so that they are both working to make Ryan come. Shane emits another one of his low, gorgeous growls, and Ryan kisses him without finesse, clenches around him helplessly. 

“You never have to be hungry again,” he tells Shane, voice cracking around another moan. “You’ll never have to go without knowing what my skin feels like again, or what my blood tastes like underneath it. It’s yours, for the rest time, until the sun dies and takes us with it.” 

Shane laughs, as rough and helpless as Ryan’s kiss. “Angel, I’ll  _ never _ stop being hungry when it comes to you. Now that I’ve gotten a taste, I’ll be dying for another, and then another after that, and another still, on and on for the rest of our existence. Tasting you once just woke it up even more.” 

“Maybe I want that. And maybe I’m the same way.” Ryan feels himself begin to unravel, unable to hold on any longer, and he times his last confession with a perfectly timed twist of his hips. “Maybe you’ll find out that I’m hungrier than you, even. That I’ll spend every moment our bodies are apart missing yours, and that I’ll die with the burn of your hands on my skin. That I’m glad that I’ll get to die knowing that having you, after all these hundreds of years, was better than living forever without you.”

Shane bites out his name and then slams into him hard enough that Ryan really does see stars this time, and he finally comes with a long, loud cry. It shakes through him the same way his Form shakes through his vessel when he sheds it, and all he can do is let the overwhelming euphoria tear through his skin and his bones and hope that it doesn’t catch fire on any of them as it goes. He’s dimly aware of Shane coming too, of Shane snarling and sobbing all at once and holding Ryan tight enough to break something, but he’s too lost in orbit to worry about being hurt when all he feels is whole. 

He comes back down to Earth to Shane kissing him slowly and sweetly, along his throat and up to his nose. Ryan releases one last sob, and kisses him just as slowly and sweetly, trying not to smile too wide and ruin it. But Shane is smiling just as widely, and he’s still crying, and Ryan finds that he’s still crying, too, and he stops worrying about making this kiss perfect since he has forever and ever to kiss Shane as much as he wants. Until the sun dies. Until TJ Marchbank makes his Hounds kill them both and leaves them with only their vessels and their graves. 

After either a few minutes or a few hours of trading gentle, reverent kisses, Shane leans back so that he can look at him again. This time, when he looks up, Ryan doesn’t feel like he’s seeing Ryan as an Archangel or a Horseman, but just as Ryan Bergara, who has flaws and human remains and more baggage than he knows what to do with. And when he asks Ryan a final time: “Will you stay with me? Will you run with me if we have to?” Ryan cannot help but look upon Shane Alexander Madej as if he is the Archangel whose Light is filling every corner of the room. 

“Of course,” Ryan replies, kissing him for a long, long moment. “I’ll run without a second thought. I’ll never leave your side again.” 

Shane takes both of Ryan’s hands in his and kisses the backs of them, and even presses a searing kiss over Ryan’s ring finger. The humanity in the gesture breaks his heart and revives it all at once, squeezes a few more tears from his aching eyes. 

“And I will never leave yours,” Shane tells him, brushing a kiss over Ryan’s steady pulse. “Not even for the grave.” 

“It’s a deal, then.” 

This makes Shane’s eyes light up with what Ryan initially thinks is delight, but quickly realizes is mischief. 

“I’m supposed to kiss you to seal my deals, remember?” 

Ryan laughs quietly. “You’ve been kissing me for an hour.” 

“I need to do it again,” Shane insists. “Just to make sure.” 

Ryan squeezes his hands tightly and guides Shane closer to him, so that their lips brush when he agrees: “Okay, it’s a deal.” 

Shane barely lets him get the words out before he’s kissing Ryan again, kissing him with finality and intent and wonderment, and even though they didn’t make a Deal, Ryan still feels the power behind their commitment to each other. The kiss is not binding, but their confessions and their bared skin say otherwise, and he lets himself sink easily into the body that he refuses to leave this room without. They don’t make a Deal, but they do make a promise, and Ryan intends to give and receive his in full. No matter the lengths he will have to go for either, and no matter what waits on the other side of this room that they’ve turned into a temple. 

After the kiss ends, and just before another one begins, Shane relents enough to whisper back: “It’s a deal,” and Ryan presses their mangled, rotten cores together and lets Light fill them both. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL THAT'S IT FOLKS!!!!! I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS JOURNEY AND ARE EXCITED ABOUT SHANE'S FIC SOMEDAY!!!!! AND ARE EXCITED ABOUT THE UTTER DUMBASS CHAOS FIC I'M SURE I'LL BE POSTING NEXT AS A SEROTONIN BOOST!!!!!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND BEING SUPPORTIVE OF MY WORK HEHE ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ 
> 
> this is also a great time for me to mention that a wonderful and galaxy brained anon pointed out that the song "it's all so incredibly loud" by glass animals is like the perfect song for this fic. please go take a listen and [read the post with the ask](https://bodhirookes.tumblr.com/post/632325930227007488/idk-if-this-is-completely-out-of-place-but-its) where we break it down. thank you forever anon, i'm obsessed with this song now and am gonna rock tf out to glass animals' new album!!!!! ♡♡♡ (edit: anon reached out again said to give 'domestic bliss' from the same album a listen for the part that says: "fight for me//we can leave//i'm begging please//on my, on my knees" and i simply have to agree here gang)

**Author's Note:**

> wowieeee so that was a lot lmao and every chapter is like that so buckle your butts in!!!! i hope this went well and my take on angels and demons is not lameo!!!! ch 2 will be posted next week once i have edited that one as well :") i also want to note for all of you that i was really convinced that kelsey impicciche's name was spelled "kelcie" for some fucking reason and now i have to go back and FIX ALL OF THEM i didn't realize i fucked up until ch 5 somehow so *penny whistle solo from 'my heart will go on' begins to play*
> 
> also incase you would like a ref:  
> angels: ryan, steven, kelsey, niki, daysha, jen, quinta, curly, annie, and maycie // demons: shane, andrew, tj, sara, adam, zach, eugene, keith, ned, tania


End file.
